


Seeing And Believing

by AlElizabeth



Series: Monster In Familiar Flesh [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 15:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4569465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "The Looking Glass Cracked". Sam is recovering but as his physical scars heal, the emotional ones still linger. Dean and Bobby are trying their best to help Sam but the eldest Winchester is becoming anxious to hunt the dybbuk that possessed their father. Dean is prepared to face the monster that used John for months, but is Sam ready?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sins Of The Father

Sam hurried to exit the car, one hand balancing the boxes of take-out Chinese while the other fumbled for the handle.

"Hurry up!" John snapped as he waited impatiently at the motel room's door and Sam stumbled, his foot caught in the seatbelt that was dangling out of the car.

The boy turned around to try and slip the nylon belt over his sneaker but as he moved the boxes of take-out slipped from his grasp and fell onto the pavement with a wet splat.

Sam's breath hitched in his throat, knowing that he was going to be punished for dropping the food. Quickly kneeling down he tried scooping the noodles and chicken back into the boxes.

"What the hell are you doing?" John's voice cut through the quiet parking lot and Sam flinched.

Peering nervously over his shoulder, Sam began to apologize, "I-I'm s-sorry, Dad… I didn't me-mean to-"

John's expression turned from one of irritated annoyance to fury, "Are you stupid, huh? How Goddamn difficult is it for you to carry a couple of boxes four feet to the room?!"

Sam's eyes welled up with tears of fear and he stood up, wiping his sticky hands off on his jeans, "It w-was an ac-accident, honest!"

John ran a hand through his black hair and Sam could see his father was trying to decide what to do with him, "No use wasting good food."

Sam peered up his father, confused.

"Dad?" Sam asked uncertainly. The food was ruined; there was no way to salvage it.

John approached his son until the boy backed up a few paces, "Go ahead Sam, dig in."

Sam's eyes widened as his father gestured to the food lying on the pavement, "No! Please, I'm sorry!"

"I'm not wasting my money just because you're a clumsy idiot," John explained, deceptively calm, "Now, eat."

Sam shook his head and couldn't help the tears streaming down his face.

"It won't hurt you," John continued in that eerily calm tone, "I'm waiting."

Sam didn't want to eat the food. The parking lot was anything but clean; Sam could see bits of gravel and old road salt coating it, shiny patches of engine oil that had leaked from cars and dried circles of chewing gum squashed into it.

Sam knew that his father wouldn't wait long for him to follow the order; he'd probably get five minutes tops before John got bored and dragged him into the motel room. Sam shuddered, if that happened he knew his father was going to beat him. He would probably still beat his son after he'd eaten the food.

Crying, Sam dropped onto his hands and knees in front of the less-than-appetizing pile of food. Sam almost wished someone would walk by but he knew they were the only tenants at the motel and the sidewalks were empty at this time of night.

Reaching out a shaking hand, Sam scooped up some of the noodles. Closing his eyes, the boy shoveled the food into his mouth and chewed quickly; gravel crunched in his teeth and the taste of asphalt on his tongue.

"Pl-please Dad," Sam just barely swallowed the mouthful before his stomach protested and he retched dryly, "D-don't make m-me do this."

"Maybe you'll be more careful next time, won't you, boy?" John asked as he watched the child.

Sam nodded, "I w-will… I pr-promise I will. Ple-please don't make me e-eat anymore!"

John's only response was to take a cigarette out of the pack in his jacket pocket and light it.

Sam wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater and gulped, steeling himself to continue eating.

Tears rolled down the boy's cheeks as he ate as quickly as possible, finishing the noodles and moving sadly onto the sweet and sour chicken balls. Sam brushed as much gunk off the chicken before popping the morsels into his mouth.

More than once Sam was forced to stop in the middle of his 'meal' when his stomach clenched, fearing he was about to be sick. Luckily, everything stayed down although it roiled unhappily in the boy's gut.

Panting, Sam sat back on his haunches and looked pleadingly up at his father.

"You're disgusting," John said and Sam lowered his head in shame. John sniffed and opened the door to the motel room, dropping their luggage onto the floor.

Sam didn't dare say anything to his father, afraid that if he did he'd only incite the older man's anger. Not even bothering to change into clean clothes, Sam sat down on one of the motel beds and crawled toward the headboard, pulling the duvet over himself as he did so.

Sam listened to his father move around the room for a while before his stomach finally settled down and he closed his eyes, sleep blessedly taking him far away for a few hours.

W

Sam startled awake and leaned over the bed, retching miserably. He tried to be as quiet as possible- he really did- because he knew that if his father heard, he'd be in for it.

Sam stiffened when he felt a hand on his back.

Now you've done it, Sam thought, woke Dad up and now he's mad.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean's voice cut through the sound of Sam's heaving, "Easy there, buddy. It's okay."

Dean! It was Dean! Not Dad! Sam remembered! He was at Bobby's! With Dean!

Sam didn't relax though, his mind and body trained from months of abuse to tense up whenever touched.

Sam stopped retching and laid down on the edge of the bed, exhausted. Dean's hand remained on his back though, rubbing soothing circles.

"B-Bobby's gonna be mad a-at me," Sam whispered, "I m-made a mess o-of his fl-floor."

"Nah," Dean assured his brother, "We'll clean it up good as new."

Sam nodded with tears in his eyes. He knew that Bobby wouldn't hurt him, had never hurt him before but the old hunter had been a friend of John's and what if-

"Why don't you take a shower and I'll take care of this?" Dean's voice derailed Sam's train of thought.

Without a word, Sam slipped off the bed and grabbed a handful of clothes from his duffle bag without even checking to see what the items were. He silently padded out of the guest bedroom and down the hallway to the master bathroom. Sam closed the door quietly behind him and leaned against it as tears streamed from his eyes.

SPN

Bobby Singer looked up when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs and saw Dean, a troubled expression on the younger man's face.

The hunter stopped his breakfast preparations and eyed the eldest Winchester.

"Your brother alright?" he asked and Dean shook his head.

"Sammy had a nightmare… I think," Dean explained, "Puked all over the floor."

Bobby raised his eyebrows and was about to ask Dean if Sam had a fever before he was cut off by the younger man.

"Don't let Sam know I told you! He was really upset about it," Dean exclaimed, "Thought you'd be pissed."

"S'alright," Bobby answered, "I'll keep my lips sealed."

Dean gave him a small smile, "Thanks."

Bobby nodded and turned back to the pancake batter he was mixing.

Poor little mite, the older man thought. He had no idea exactly what John had done to Sam under the dybbuk's influence but knew the spirits could get really nasty if they had a mind to. Bobby had warned Dean not to push Sam into talking; sometimes the oldest Winchester could be a little too forceful and right now they needed to show Sam that they were on his side. Despite the fact that Sam now knew his father had been possessed the whole time, it would still be difficult for him to start trusting people again.

From the corner of his eye, Bobby spied Dean trudging up the stairs with the yellow wash pail and a cleaning cloth that he'd taken from underneath the sink in the basement. The old hunter sighed and poured a small amount of batter into a waiting frying pan. He knew that they had a long way to go before Sam was fully recovered. Dean had only shown up with his brother the day before and despite the younger man's tendency to be impatient and impulsive, Bobby knew he'd do anything for Sam, especially if it meant protecting him.

SPN

Dean wrinkled his nose as he mopped up the small puddle of sick. He hoped his brother wasn't getting ill- that was the last thing the kid needed right now- and made a mental note to check Sam's temperature once he was out of the bathroom.

Under normal circumstances Dean would have handed Sam the bucket and cloth and told the kid to knock himself out, he was fourteen years old after all, not a baby that needed someone else to clean up after him but despite that the older Winchester was on his hands and knees, wiping away the evidence.

Dean bit his lower lip as a wave of guilt washed over him. He should never have left Sam alone with their father. Although Dean knew he could never have known what would happen to John, he still felt responsible for his brother. He should have made more of an effort to check up on Sam. Dean recalled the single phone call he'd made to his family after he'd arrived at Stanford; he'd barely been able to get two words out before his father hung up on him. Dean thought his father hated him, had practically disowned him. Now he knew it was probably the dybbuk speaking instead of John but that had been enough. Dean had not called again; his father had Sam to hunt with and obviously didn't need him.

"How could I have been such an idiot?" Dean muttered to himself as he wrung the excess water from the cloth and dried the wet patch on the hardwood.

He looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Sam slink into the bedroom. He grimaced slightly when he noticed how his brother's clothes hung on his thin frame, how stained they were.

Ducking his head, Dean chastised himself for thinking only about, well, himself. He had been so hurt by his father's rejection that he hadn't given one thought to how Sam felt. Dean had known that Sam hadn't wanted to stay with their father but all he cared about was getting to the bus depot on time. Dean had been selfish and his brother had been the one to pay the price.

Standing up, Dean grabbed the handle of the bucket and turned to his brother, "Bobby's making pancakes; why don't you go see if he needs help."

Sam nodded and walked silently down the hall. Dean's brow furrowed with worry and he ran a hand through his hair in agitation. He knew that it was going to take longer than a single day for Sam to get better but Dean didn't want to wait. All he wanted was his little brother back. All he wanted was the Sam he'd once known; the Sam who'd laugh at his jokes no matter how lame they were, who'd complain about his bad singing even as he joined in, who constantly asked Dean questions and expected an answer even if his older brother had no idea if it was correct or not. He wanted the Sam who would roll his eyes and huff in annoyance, he wanted the Sam who complained about burgers for dinner and who would eat pancakes for every meal if given the chance. He wanted the Sam who chattered non-stop on long road trips, who was so concerned about some algebra exam or social studies project, who would curl up beside him if he'd had a nightmare and then act like nothing had happened the next morning.

Dean didn't want this Sam. This Sam who flinched away from him if Dean tried to comfort him, who refrained from speaking unless it was necessary, who was far too thin, whose eyes welled up with tears so easily. This Sam whose body was riddled with scars that had been given to him at the hands of their own father was someone Dean didn't know and didn't want to know.

"Dean! You gonna lollygag around here all day?" Bobby's voice startled Dean out of his thoughts and he was surprised to see the old man standing in the bedroom doorway.

"How long were you calling?" Dean asked and wiped a hand over his mouth.

"I just came up," Bobby told him, "Didn't wanna holler at you from the stairs in case Sam… you know…"

Dean nodded. The night before, he had been watching TV on Bobby's old set and a particularly loud fight scene had sent Sam scurrying from the couch into a corner of the room in fright.

The eldest Winchester followed the grizzled hunter to the main floor. Setting the bucket beside the basement door, Dean entered the kitchen and saw his brother move away from the stove so that Bobby could continue to tend the pancakes.

"You were doing a fine job there, son," Bobby told the boy and Dean smiled at the older man's compliment.

Sam only stared at his sock-and-feet and didn't say a word.

Dean took a seat at the table and poured orange juice into his glass, "C'mon and sit down Sammy."

He watched as his brother shuffled to the table and slid onto one of the chairs. Sam flinched when he reached over to pour him some juice and Dean gritted his teeth in frustration.

SPN

Sam's eyes filled with tears. Dean was mad at him now! He gulped and reminded himself that Dean wasn't going to hurt him. Still, he remained as unmoving as stone when Bobby slid three large pancakes onto his plate.

He waited until his brother and uncle had their food before he started eating and then, out of habit he cut his pancakes into large chunks and began shoveling them into his mouth, not even bothering to put syrup on them.

"Hey! Sammy! What're you doing?" Dean exclaimed as Sam practically choked down his breakfast.

Sam stuttered to a stop, swallowing a huge mouthful of food painfully, "I'm s-sorry, De-Dean."

Although Sam knew it wasn't going to happen, his mind was telling him to eat as much as he could before the two men took the food away. Sam learned that if he made John wait while he ate, his father would take his plate away whether he was finished or not.

"What're you sorry for? Just try and eat a little slower, okay?" Dean told him and Sam nodded.

"Want some syrup?" Dean asked and Sam nodded again. He allowed his brother to pour a generous helping over his pancakes before he started eating, slower this time.

After a few minutes Dean sat back in his chair and stretched, "That was great, Bobby."

Sam had been eating painfully slow in an attempt to please his brother but now he wrapped his free arm around the plate protectively when Dean asked him if he was finished.

"N-no," Sam shook his head and stuffed a large piece into his mouth.

"Okay," Dean said and made no move to take away Sam's plate. Sam tried to relax as Dean continued talking.

"What do ya say we go out and get you some new clothes?" Dean asked and Sam shook his head.

"I've gotta go into town anyway," Bobby spoke up, "Why don't I grab some things?"

"Bobby," Dean said but the old hunter interrupted, "Your brother ain't in any condition to go strolling through the local Wal-Mart, Dean. I'm not sure about you but the last thing I want is for some busybody calling the police or CPS."

Sam lowered his head and stopped eating.

"Aw jeez! I didn't even think about that," Dean lamented and Sam heard Bobby grunt sarcastically.

"Losing your touch, are you?" the old hunter said.

"That's not funny, Bobby!" Dean exclaimed and Sam slipped off his chair onto the floor beneath the table.

"Sammy?" Sam heard his brother's voice as he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around his knees.

"Damn it," he heard Bobby swear under his breath.

"Sam, it's okay," Dean cajoled, "You can come out."

Sam didn't move. His stomach didn't feel good.

"Just leave him, Dean," Bobby's voice said over Sam's head. He heard the sound of plates and silverware moving and realized that the older man was taking his food away.

Tears squeezed out from beneath Sam's closed eyelids. Maybe Dean and Bobby were tricking him, pretending to be nice when they really were just like Dad. Maybe Dean really did hate him and Bobby was mad that he had shot John.

Sam laid his head on his knees and sniffed pitifully, waiting for either his brother or uncle to drag him out from underneath the table and punish him.


	2. Someone Who Cares

Dean looked helplessly at Bobby for a moment as the older man began to clear the table but his surrogate uncle offered no answers.

Shaking his head, Dean slid his plate on top of his brother's and handed them both to Bobby.

"What do you need in town?" Dean asked curiously.

Bobby shrugged, "Parts for a car I've gotta work on. Nuthin' special."

The young man nodded and Bobby saw his eyes dart to the huddled form of his brother underneath the table, "I'll only be a half-hour or so."

"Alright," Dean said. He didn't know what he was going to do if Sam refused to move. His brother couldn't stay in the kitchen the whole day.

Dean followed Bobby to the door, told him what he could pick up for Sam and promised not to push his brother.

"Just act like everything's normal," Bobby suggested, "If Sam sees nothing's going to happen, he might just come out on his own."

Dean nodded, slightly annoyed that the veteran hunter was telling him how to take care of his own brother.

"I think I can handle it, Bobby," Dean grumbled.

Bobby frowned at the younger man, "Don't get smart with me, boy. This ain't a game."

"I know that!" Dean growled back, "It's not like I'm having the time of my life right now!"

"Would you lower the volume, you idjit," Bobby hissed, aware that Sam was only in the other room and could certainly hear them arguing.

Dean's face paled as he realized he'd nearly been yelling, "Aw shit."

Bobby shook his head, "Calm down before you go back into the kitchen."

The younger man swiped a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

"I won't be gone long," Bobby told Dean as he slipped out the door, looking back once before climbing into the cab of his old pickup truck.

SPN

Sam washed the small amount of dishes leftover in the sink. His father would be home soon and cleaning up the kitchen had been the one thing John had told him to do. The water was icy cold- the house that they were renting was just one cockroach infestation shy of being condemned- but Sam didn't mind. He was glad that there was running water, whatever temperature. Sam looked out the window as he did his chore, grimacing at the burnt grass covering the postage stamp-sized lawn as he waited for his father's 1967 Chevy Impala to pull into the cracked driveway.

Across the street a group of little kids were running around in a sprinkler, shouting and laughing as they jumped and skidded in the muddy grass.

Sighing, Sam turned to set a plate in the drying tray and startled when a car door slammed shut. John was back. The plate slipped from Sam's wet fingers and smashed in the sink.

"Fuck," Sam cursed and scrambled to gather up the pieces before his father could see.

The front door creaked open and Sam froze, knowing he'd be caught if he made a dash towards the garbage can.

Tears already pricking in the corners of his eyes, Sam gripped the edge of the sink with white knuckles as his father entered the kitchen, probably looking for a beer.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" John snapped as he crossed to the humming refridgerator.

"Nu-nothing," Sam stammered and winced; now his father was sure to know something was wrong.

"What have you got there?" John asked and stomped toward his son.

"Pl-please," Sam began and tensed when his father placed a hand on the back of his neck.

John didn't even say anything. He just shoved his boy's head down, into the soapy dishwater still in the sink.

Sam didn't have time to take a breath and when he did, he got a lungful of bitter-tasting water. His hands scrabbled for purchase at this edge of the sink, trying to gain leverage and lift his head but his father was too strong. Minutes passed and growing lightheaded, Sam stopped struggling and felt his body go limp, too weak to fight.

This is it, Sam told himself, Dad's finally had enough of-

Sam gasped for air as John pulled his head up. Releasing his son, John stepped around the boy to the fridge and grabbed himself a beer.

Sam hit the floor and pressed his back against the cupboard doors. Wiping soaking bangs away from his burning eyes, Sam squinted at his father as John twisted open his bottle of beer and strolled into the den as though nothing had happened.

Coughing, Sam drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He shivered, knowing that he should finish the dishes and throw out the broken plate before his father came back into the kitchen, but he just couldn't find the strength to move. Tears mixing with the water dripping down Sam's face, he laid his cheek against his kneecap and wished he could do something right for a change.

W

Sam stared at Dean's denim-clad legs as his brother washed the dishes. He could hear him humming 'Smoke on the Water' over the splash of sudsy water and the clink of cutlery and plates. Sam might as well have been invisible for all the notice he received. Sam told himself that Dean was his brother and he'd never hurt him but still he didn't move. John was his father and that hadn't stopped him.

The boy sniffed sadly and froze when his brother turned around.

No, Sam thought in panic, I'm sorry! Please!

Sam's eyes grew wide as Dean moved towards the table, dish cloth in one hand.

Scooting away from the threat, Sam let out a frightened whimper.

Dean though, apparently hadn't heard and wiped the table with the cloth, brushing the crumbs into his free hand before dropping them into the empty side of the sink.

The drain gurgled noisily as Dean let the water out and left the dishes in the rack to dry off.

Sam's heart was beating like a jackhammer in his chest and his eyes followed Dean as his brother left the kitchen and walked into the den and sat down on the couch.

The boy heard the television turn on and the garbled sounds as his brother channel surfed.

Sam recalled many a night when his father would return from a hunt and watch TV for hours, drinking beer after beer. Sam remained underneath the table, warily eyeing his brother's form as Dean leaned back against the couch cushions and guffawed at something funny he was watching.

SPN

Bobby knew something was wrong as soon as he pulled up the drive. Dean was sitting on the porch steps with his head in his hands and a sorrowful expression on his face.

"Balls," Bobby muttered to himself as he opened the creaky door of his pickup, grabbed the grocery bags from the passenger seat and slid out.

The grizzled hunter paused only long enough to slam the truck's door shut and approached the younger man.

"Dean, boy, what happened?" He asked and the teen looked up at him as if suddenly realizing he was there.

"Sam hasn't moved," Dean answered sadly.

Bobby raised his eyes to the sky for a moment, "This ain't gonna fix itself in an afternoon ya idjit."

Dean nodded and wiped surreptitiously at his eyes, "I did what you suggested but it didn't work… I just can't stand to see Sammy like that… he's terrified, Bobby!"

"Okay," the older hunter sighed, "Let's see if we can't coax your brother out of his shell a little bit."

Dean nodded and stood, following his surrogate uncle inside.

Bobby didn't go into the kitchen but the den. He set the bags on the coffee table and spoke loudly to Dean.

"I got Sam some new clothes," he rustled the plastic bag as he pulled out a half dozen pairs of jeans.

"They look like they'd be Sam's size," Bobby continued and unfolded a pair to show Dean.

The younger man smiled, catching on to what Bobby was doing.

"Did you get Sammy any shirts?" Dean asked.

"Of course I did! Look!" Bobby pulled out two dozen shirts. Six t-shirts ranging in colour form dark brown to forest green to navy blue to white. The other half-dozen were long-sleeved plaid button-ups that would match the t-shirts.

"Sam's gonna love these," Dean said honestly and mouthed 'thank you' to the older man.

"That ain't all," Bobby winked, "I got Sam a little treat."

Dean smiled when the veteran hunter pulled a king-sized Oh Henry chocolate bar from the bag.

Both men couldn't help grin when they heard the sounds of moment coming from the kitchen- the scuff of shoes on linoleum and the rasp of fabric- and turned to see Sam watching them warily from the doorway.

"Wanna see what Bobby got ya?" Dean asked as though Sam hadn't been spending the past hour huddled underneath the kitchen table.

Sam narrowed his eyes as though he thought his brother might be tricking him before he stepped into the den.

"You really got all this for me?" Sam asked Bobby and the grizzled hunter nodded.

Sam gripped the elbow of his right arm with his left hand, "Does that mean you're not angry at me?"

Bobby nodded, "You've done nothing wrong, son."

Sam bit his lip and nodded once. He took a cautious step forward and Bobby held out the chocolate bar.

Bobby watched with a bleeding heart as Sam snatched the candy from him and held it as though he wasn't sure what to do with it once he had it.

"Go on," Bobby encouraged, "Enjoy."

Sam's expression turned confused, "Don't you want me to wait 'til after dinner?"

Bobby waved a hand, "Nah, you only live once so why not enjoy the little things while you can."

Sam didn't react for a moment before mumbling a quick 'thank you' to the older man and took off down the hall.

"Sam-" Dean began but Bobby grabbed his arm.

"Let him be, Dean," Bobby cautioned.

Dean stared at his friend in outrage for a moment before nodding.

"I just want him to know that everything's going to be okay," Dean muttered, "I just want him to know that I'm not going to hurt him."

"That's exactly what you're doing, Dean," Bobby assured the younger man, "But Sam's been through a hell of a lot and he's likely still got John in his head so we have to move slowly."

"Yeah, okay," Dean agreed, "I'll take these up to our room and put them away for Sam."

Bobby nodded in approval.

Dean had reached the bottom of the steps before Bobby stopped him, "Catch."

Bobby tossed a regular-sized Snickers bar at the younger man and Dean grabbed it from the air with ease.

"Make sure Sam doesn't see you eating it," Bobby advised and Dean nodded, slipping the candy bar into the back pocket of his jeans.

Chuckling to himself, Bobby went into the kitchen and put away the air-dried dishes. The house was very quiet but it wasn't bad… it was more comforting and Bobby knew that- for now at least- both Winchesters were content in their own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Three Days Grace song.


	3. The Trick To Life

Sam pulled his knees up to his chest and carefully unwrapped his chocolate bar. He couldn't believe Bobby had gotten it for him. He paused for a moment, listening intently before deciding he was alone and nibbled on the very edge of the Oh Henry bar.

Sam closed his eyes and savoured the sweet, melty chocolate. It had been a long time since he'd had something this good.

Sam tentatively took a small bite and moaned in pleasure. He knew he was acting dumb, it was just a chocolate bar, not ambrosia and nectar, but he couldn't help it. It had been a gift, simple as that, no strings attached and no tricks.

Sam opened his eyes and frowned.

How do you know it's not some kind of cruel joke?

Sam shook his head to dislodge the thought. This was Bobby. He'd always been kind to Sam. Nothing suggested that he had something nasty planned.

Dad sometimes acted nice too. Remember? He would say he was sorry and you'd believe it.

Sam gulped, the chocolate sticking in his throat and turning sour.

"Dad never gave me a candy bar," he whispered out loud but the damage was already done. Sam set the Oh Henry on the floor- ignoring the tiny dust bunnies that became glued to it- and buried his face in his knees in shame.

How had he been so stupid? He'd let his guard down for some fucking piece of candy and now he was going to be punished.

Sam wondered if Bobby was going to beat him. He wondered if Dean was going to was going to laugh and tell him he pathetic he was- what an idiot he was- for believing they actually cared about him.

This was all a big game to them and he didn't know the rules. Just like with his Dad.

W

Sam couldn't help but smile to himself. Dad was actually being nice to him! He almost couldn't believe it!

John had woken him up early and said they were going out for breakfast- something they rarely did these days- and had let Sam order pancakes.

After eating they had gone to the library and John had waited while Sam read a book. He couldn't get a library card because they wouldn't be in town long enough but John let Sam pick out one book to read. Sam had been careful to choose a book that wasn't too long- he didn't want to press his luck- and they left the library two hours later.

Sam sat in the passenger seat, not shying away from his father the way he usually did and when he smiled, John smiled back.

"What do you want to do this afternoon, Sport?" his Dad asked and Sam grinned widely. John hadn't called him Sport since he was nine.

"Can we go to the park?" Sam asked carefully, "Play catch?"

"Sure thing," John had answered and there was no darkness to his tone, no deception behind his eyes. He put Sam well at ease; he was a good actor and Sam should have remembered that.

The two Winchesters stayed in the park, tossing a tennis ball- bought at a local dollar store- until the sun began to sink toward the horizon, its rays turning from gold to crimson.

Sam practically skipped back to the Impala, breathless and happier than he'd been since Dean had left for school. John walked casually behind his son, tossing the tennis ball from one hand to the other, utterly calm.

The park had been the best part of the day. He liked the sound of the other kids roughhousing in the sandbox nearby, the warm sun beating pleasantly down on him, the smell of fresh-cut grass and hot dogs- which John had bought them for lunch- and the way his father had smiled at him.

John let Sam fiddle with the radio dial on the drive back to the motel, changing from one station to another as he sought out something that sounded good to him.

Sam wondered if they were going to eat out again. He decided that he'd like that.

When they parked at the motel, Sam slid out of his seat and met his Dad at the motel room door. John grinned at Sam for a moment before fishing the keys from his pocket and opening the door.

Sam went inside and turned to face his Dad. John closed the door softly, the smile never leaving his face.

Sam should have known something was wrong.

"Did you have a good day, Sammy?" John asked and his son nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah! It was great," Sam exclaimed happily, "Really fun!"

John wasn't looking at him. He was peering down at the key ring in his hand, "Good, because that's the last day like that you're ever going to get."

The silence that followed was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His heart began to gallop, not from excitement or happiness but from fear.

"Dad?" Sam squeaked, "D-did I do so-something wrong?"

John didn't answer immediately; he just continued to stare at his hand. And the keys.

Sam's mind sorted through the events of the day in warp speed, trying to figure out if he'd said something wrong or done something wrong.

John looked up and Sam took a step back as his father let out a bark of laughter.

"You actually believed it!" he crowed, "I can't believe you fell for it!"

"No, pl-please Dad," Sam begged, "Don't!"

John's face still held its malicious mirth, "You're more stupid than you look!"

Sam's eyes stung with tears and he looked at the floor. It wasn't fair! How could his father do this to him? Why?

"Oh stop crying!" John said in exasperation, "It's not my fault you're a retard."

That only made the tears fall faster. Sam couldn't' help it, his heart was breaking all over again. He had dared to hope that his father had changed only to find out it was all some cruel joke.

"Shut up!" John demanded, growing angry now and Sam raised his hands to his mouth to try and stifle the sound of his sobs.

Sam staggered back when his father hit him in the face, the set of keys cutting into his cheek and neck.

"Pl-please don't," Sam begged and John punched him again.

Sam sprawled onto the carpet, stunned. Dazed, he lifted his hand and grabbed onto one of the beds, fingers fisting in the blankets.

How had things gotten so bad, so quickly?

Sam struggled to pull himself up but hit the floor again when John shoved him.

He didn't try and move again. Instead Sam curled into a ball on his side, hands clenched against his chest and knees pulled up to his chin.

"Fuckin' moron," he heard his father mutter and turn away. Sam let a few more tears squeeze out before he closed his eyes and tried to think back on the events of the day, imagining that John really did love him and would spend endless hours playing in the park as carefree and happy as the other fathers did.

SPN

Dean crept down the stairs and headed into the den. He wondered where Sam had gone to eat his chocolate; he wasn't in the room they shared because Dean had had it all to himself while putting his brother's new clothes away.

Just let him alone for a little bit, Dean told himself. If you start trying to force yourself on him he's only gonna get scared.

Dean shook his head wearily, sadly and hid his own candy wrapper at the bottom of the trashcan under Bobby's desk.

Turning to the bookshelf, Dean grabbed a tome and sat down on the couch. Although he knew he should be focusing on helping Sam get better, Dean wanted to learn more about the spirit that Bobby had called a dybbuk. Even though Sam was a priority right now, Dean didn't think a little research would hurt anyone.

Dean grew so engrossed with the book that he startled when Bobby entered the den.

"I'm surprised to see you hitting the books," the old hunter commented and Dean shrugged and then frowned.

"Bobby, how can you be sure it was a dybbuk that possessed Dad?" he asked suddenly.

The older man's eyebrows knitted together, "What do you mean, son?"

Dean stabbed a finger down at the book, "I don't want to call Sam a liar but Bobby we only have his word to go on that this white mist left Dad after he… after he died."

"Dean," Bobby began but the younger man interrupted him.

"I didn't see any ectoplasm or anything like that when I picked him up from the motel," Dean continued, "There was nothing to suggest that a pissed off spirit was there."

"Dybbuk's are different," Bobby explained, "They're rare and damn difficult to detect because they don't display the usual signs of haunting or possession."

Dean shook his head, "Sam was traumatized, Bobby. He's just shot Dad and even after coming here he wasn't quite right. He's still not right. He thinks we're going to hurt him."

Bobby let out a breath, "Is that what you're truly worried about? That Sam thinks we're out to get him?"

Dean opened his mouth to protest, to say that no, he was not sure if Sam had seen what he actually claimed he had but he couldn't get the words out.

"Dean, you're right. Sam was still a little shocked when I asked him about what had happened but I don't think he'd lie. I think he really saw the dybbuk leave your father's body in that motel room," Bobby said, coming closer to the younger man and taking the book from him.

"Besides, I know your father could be a hardass sometimes but I have never, never known him to raise a hand in anger to either of you boys," Bobby set the tome back on its shelf.

"But-" Dean tried but the veteran hunter shook his head.

"John's in his head, Dean," Bobby said, "He spent a great many months with someone he thought hated him, who was hurting him before being told that it wasn't really John."

Dean stared down at his lap, suddenly ashamed of his misgivings.

"I'm… I'm just so scared that it's not true, Bobby," Dean whispered, "I'm just so scared that there wasn't any spirit and it was… was all Dad… I'm afraid that he just snapped when I left."

The older man laid a hand on Dean's shoulder comfortingly.

"I know that John loved you boys and the last thing he wanted was to see you get hurt," Bobby murmured.

Dean sniffed and then swiped a hand across his eyes, embarrassed.

Clearing his throat, Dean tried to maintain at least some of his dignity. He stood up and stretched.

"What's for lunch?" he asked with a cocky grin.

Bobby rolled his eyes, "We just had breakfast!"

"I know but I'm starving," Dean complained, "I'm a growing boy."

Bobby chuckled and smacked Dean's stomach with the back of his hand playfully.

"I can see that," he joked.

Dean dodged out of the hunter's reach and pranced into the kitchen.

"I took out a package of hotdogs," Bobby called, "They're thawing in the sink."

"Mmmm nothing better than hooves and snouts," Dean rubbed his belly comically and Bobby huffed in exasperation.

What am I going to do with that boy? Bobby wondered with humour as Dean grabbed a box of cookies from the pantry and began munching away on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Hoosiers song.


	4. Silent Lucidity

Dean climbed up the stairs in search of his brother. Lunch was ready but Sam hadn't made an appearance for a few hours- not since Bobby had given him the chocolate bar- and Dean wondered where his brother could be hiding.

Peering into the room he shared with his brother, Dean knew he wouldn't find Sam but he checked anyway, even going so far as to open the closet and peer underneath the beds.

Dean's stomach growled impatiently but he ignored it. Stepping out into the hallway, he tried to think of where his brother could be.

"Sammy?" Dean called quietly.

"Sam?" he said his brother's name once again and although he wasn't answered, he heard a shifting sound from over his head. Looking up, Dean nearly kicked himself as his gaze landed on the pull-string dangling down from the closed ladder that led up to the attic.

Stretching, Dean grabbed the rope that dangled down and pulled until the wooden ladder unfolded before him. The eldest Winchester glanced over his shoulder for a moment before sighing and climbing the steps, hoping that his brother was up in the attic (and wishing that he wasn't).

Poking his head up cautiously, Dean squinted across the attic, seeing nothing but dusty cardboard boxes and a couple of old steamer trunks.

"Sammy?" Dean called, his voice carrying across the stale, humid attic.

Dean paused and listened for a response, any response and frowned when he heard nothing. Sam couldn't have gone outside, could he? Dean wondered and was just about to leave when he heard a shuffling sound on the far side of the room.

"Sam? You up here?" Dean called, slightly louder than before and pulled himself up to stand on the dust-coated wooden boards that made up the attic's floor.

Dean listened carefully and frowned when a small whimper drifted across the muggy attic air towards him.

"Sammy? Where are you, buddy?" Dean asked and crept forward. Glancing down he could make out the scuff marks of socks on the dust-covered floorboards and followed the trail to the far end of the room.

Sam was curled up against the wall, his legs pressed against his chest and his face buried against his knees.

"What are you doing up here?" Dean asked quietly but Sam flinched as if he had shouted the question.

"Hey," Dean cooed, "Hey, its okay. I'm not mad, I was just worried."

Sam didn't move as Dean approached. The older teen crouched down and he saw the abandoned candy bar lying on the dusty floor.

Picking up the chocolate, Dean frowned when he saw it was coated in dust.

"You don't want this?" Dean asked, holding the treat out to his brother.

Sam, still refusing to look at his brother, shook his head. His arms tightened around his knees and he muttered something into his jeans.

"What? I can't hear you, Sammy," Dean said quickly and reached out to ruffle his brother's hair.

Dean didn't like how tense his brother was when he touched him. The boy seeming to be made out of stone and Dean quickly lowered his hand.

"Bobby's made us lunch if you want some," Dean tried, speaking encouragingly.

Sam shook his head. Dean sighed. Sam had to eat something or else he'd get sick. The kid was already for too thin for Dean's liking and he'd be damned if he just sat back and watched his brother wither away.

"Okay," Dean stood as if he was about to leave but instead bent down and grabbed his sibling under the arms.

Sam gasped and began flailing, kicking out his legs and punching at the air.

"No! Let me go! Please! I'm sorry!" Sam screamed high-pitched and Dean swore under his breath. He tightened his grip and tried to reassure his brother that nothing was wrong.

"It's alright, Sammy. It's okay; I'm not going to hurt you."

"No! No! Please, I'll be good! I promise!" Sam was deaf to Dean's assurances. The older boy carefully maneuvered the two of them towards the attic's entrance.

Dean knew he couldn't hold onto his brother and go down the ladder at the same time so he was hoping that Sam would calm down enough before they reached it.

Sam had tears running down his face and he was shaking with fear but Dean didn't stop to think about it. He wasn't going to hurt his brother and he needed Sam to realize that.

Once they had reached the attic exit, Dean set his brother down on his feet. Dean decided that Sam should go first so that he wouldn't be tempted to run away into the attic again.

"Bobby made us hotdogs, Sam," Dean told his brother over the sound of Sam's crying, "Can't you smell them?"

Dean's stomach gurgled at the scent of hotdogs and Kraft Dinner wafting into the attic space and he hoped Sam would be tempted by the food to go down on his own.

Sam ducked his head and nodded.

"Think you can get down by yourself?" Dean asked, knowing that Sam would be able to.

"Yes," Sam whimpered and Dean's throat tightened with emotion.

"Sam-" Dean began, wanting to say something that would make his brother stop crying, that would make the kid smile at him like he used to, but the younger boy ducked his head even lower and began to climb down the wooden ladder.

The older brother wiped a hand down his face. Bobby was going to be pissed when he found out what Dean had done. So much for taking it slow, Dean thought and peered down to see his brother had finished his descent and was standing to one side, waiting for him.

At least he didn't run off again, Dean decided that he might have gotten somewhere with his brother and began his own climb down from the attic.

As soon as Dean's feet touched the hardwood he knew he'd made a mistake. Looking around, he swore when he saw that Sam was nowhere in sight.

Running his hand through his short-cropped hair, the oldest Winchester folded the ladder back up, not even bothering to wait until it settled into place before he was stomping down the stairs.

"Sam!" Dean called, trying to keep anger from his voice. To be honest, he wans't angry- couldn't be angry with his brother, not when he was like this- but frustrated that everything seemed like it was one step forward and two steps back.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted again and grimaced when he heard Bobby curse from the kitchen.

"What're ya trying to do? Wake the whole damn neighbourhood?" Bobby stuck his grizzled head out the kitchen doorway and narrowed his eyes at the young man.

"Did you see Sam come down here?" Dean asked, trying not to sound too worried.

"What've you done now?" the veteran hunter asked suspiciously.

Dean glanced at the floor guiltily, "I, uh, might have scared Sammy."

"Jesus Dean! What did I tell you?!" Bobby growled and stepped towards the younger man.

"I'm sorry! Sam was up in the attic, I was afraid he'd get dehydrated," Dean claimed, his explanation not entirely false.

"Idjit," Bobby growled and turned to head back into the kitchen. Dean made to follow the older man but nearly walked into him instead.

Dean peered around Bobby's shoulder and saw Sam sitting at the kitchen table.

The youngest Winchester stared wide-eyed at his friend and brother nervously.

"Hey Sammy," Dean greeted and smiled.

Bobby shook his head and entered the kitchen.

Sam visibly stiffened as the older man walked into the room but he didn't leave the room.

"You want some lunch, son?" Bobby asked and Sam nodded hesitantly.

Dean sat down across from his brother.

"What's wrong with you? Are yer legs broke?" Bobby's voice startled the eldest Winchester and Dean sighed.

Once Dean and Bobby set the table the younger man sat back down and smiled at his brother.

Sam had watched the two older men work without saying a word. He wasn't sure if he should offer to help. Neither Bobby nor Dean asked him so he kept quiet.

Dean scooped several spoonfuls of Kraft Dinner into the bowl in front of his brother and Sam muttered his thanks.

"Do you want a hotdog, kiddo?" Dean asked, hoping Sam would eat. He was far too thin. Sam shook his head, hunched his shoulders and began shoveling the macaroni into his mouth.

Dean watched his brother for a moment, noting the speed at which Sam was eating but decided not to call him out on it.

Instead, Dean pretended as if nothing was wrong. He helped himself to Kraft Dinner, squirted some ketchup into it began eating as well.

Bobby took a hotdog, slathered it with relish and mustard and played dumb as well.

The small family ate in silence, no one daring to speak.

Sam finished his lunch first. He set his fork down on his napkin and stared down at the empty bowl.

"You want some more, Sammy?" Dean asked in a kindly tone but his brother shook his head.

"You sure? There's a lot of macaroni left," Dean tried, "Or you can have a hotdog."

Again Sam shook his head.

Dean glanced at Bobby and the older man just shrugged.

Although both of them would have liked to see Sam eat more, neither wanted to force him to.

W

Bobby insisted that he could take care of the dishes when Dean tried to help him.

"I'm fine," he assured the younger man, "You go with your brother."

Dean nodded although he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with Sam. After being excused from the table, the younger boy had gone into the den and sat on the end of the couch with his knees pulled up to his chin.

"Hey Sammy," Dean greeted as he entered the living room. Sam didn't even look up.

"You want to watch some TV?" he asked but the boy didn't reply.

Dean sat down on the opposite end of the couch and grabbed the television remote control.

Turning on the TV, Dean flicked through the channels, "You want to watch ThunderCats?"

Normally if Dean had suggested watching a cartoon like that, Sam would groan and roll his eyes, tell his brother that it was a baby show but the younger boy only shrugged.

Since ThunderCats was no longer on the air, Dean settled for a documentary about lions.

Close enough, he thought and stretched out so that he could be more comfortable. He watched, slightly bored as a lioness played with her twin cubs, her actions narrated by some old British guy who seemed to always be in these type of shows.

Dean couldn't help but smile slightly as he watched from the corner of his eye as Sam leaned forward, chin resting on his knees.

Little steps, Dean thought, take things slowly, like Bobby said.

SPN

John never let Sam watch TV.

Even when his father was gone, Sam never turned on the television, sure that somehow John would know he'd done so when he returned and punish him for it.

It had been so long since Sam had watched television that he would chance getting in trouble. Besides, Dean had been the one to suggest they watch it, right?

Maybe it was a trick though. Maybe Dean wanted to see if Sam would do something that was forbidden just because his big brother had said it was okay.

Sam slid off the couch and onto the floor, scooting around the corner of the couch and put his hands over his ears.

Why would Dean hurt you? A voice in Sam's head asked, he's your brother. He's the one who found you after Dad died.

Taking a deep breath, Sam peered around the couch. Dean remained where he was but he had a worried expression on his face.

Dean cares about you. If he didn't he wouldn't have come to get you from Delaware, the voice continued. Sam had never noticed before but it sounded like a woman's voice, like the voice he imagined as his mother's.

Carefully, as if he expected Dean to fly into a rage, Sam climbed back up onto the couch and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Dean didn't say anything and Sam felt relief wash over him.

Turning to the TV screen, Sam continued to watch the documentary, his mother's voice assuring him that nothing bad was going to happen to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Queensryche song.


	5. Some Kind Of Monster

The dybbuk staring out from John Winchester's eyes smiled. It loved seeing the boy in pain, terrified. Sam was backed into a corner, tears streaming down his face as he spluttered apologies.

The dybbuk reached down and grabbed the boy's longish hair, dragging him into the middle of the room. Sam whimpered and tried to pry his father's hands away without success.

The dybbuk felt John Winchester stir but took no notice of the man, the hunter was powerless to stop it. Sam was shoved to the floor as John pulled his belt off. The boy tried to scramble away when his Dad let go of his hair but was pinned instead with one knee to his back.

Sam cried, begging his father not to hurt him. John ignored him and pulled his son's pants down around his ankles so he only had his boxer shorts on.

"Maybe this will teach you a lesson," the dybbuk growled in the hunter's voice and John Winchester railed against the spirit as it brought the belt down on his son's behind.

John Winchester couldn't take it. He couldn't bear to watch his baby boy beaten, couldn't stomach the fact that it was his hands harming his youngest child. He fought against the dybbuk for as long as he could but the monster was too strong. And John was growing weaker.

Blood was dripping down Sam's legs by the time his father finally stopped. The boy's eyes were barely open as he drifted closer and closer towards unconsciousness. He stared despondently at the belt as John dropped it to the floor by his head, its silver buckle smeared with red.

The dybbuk stepped over the child and chuckled. John walked over to the small bar fridge on the opposite side of the motel room and got himself a beer.

Sam couldn't move. He was in too much pain. He lay where he was, breathing heavily, tears leaking from his swollen eyes.

The dybbuk sat down at the motel room's small table, watching the boy and drinking his beer.

Maybe it should let John out, at least for a little while. Not long enough for the man to get help but so the dybbuk could enjoy the father's anguish. John knew that he couldn't help his son, no matter how many promises he made.

The dybbuk stretched John's mouth wide, grinning toothily. It so loved to confuse the boy. There was nothing better than seeing the trust in the child's eyes fade as he realized that he, once again, was wrong and that his father- or so he believed- hated him.

John finished his beer and threw the can in the garbage. He stepped over his son on his way to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

The dybbuk stared at its host's face in the mirror. John's eyes were smouldering with anger; the emotion directed at the creature, its the best the hunter could do, and the dybbuk pulled the man's mouth back in a sneer.

W

"Sammy," John choked and sank to his knees, his hands tugging at his son.

"D… Daa…" Sam whimpered, his eyes closed and John's heart broke.

"It… It's not me, son," the father whispered, "It isn't… I swear to you."

The boy didn't respond but curled against his father's chest, seeking comfort.

Tears slipped down John's cheeks and dripped onto his son's t-shirt. Carefully, John picked up his son and laid him in the bed closest to the bathroom, wishing he could do more, wishing he could kill this monster using him like a puppet.

The father, knowing he didn't have much time- already feeling the dybbuk starting to take control again- leaned forward and kissed Sam's brow.

"I love you, Sammy."

SPN

Sam picked at the pork chop and green beans on his plate, not eating anything. Dean, hungry as always, had finished his first helping and had taken a second one.

"You alright, son?" Bobby asked, spearing a bean on his fork.

Sam nodded but didn't say a word. It had been nice to watch TV for a little while but he knew that things would change. Even though Dean and Bobby had done nothing to hurt him, Sam was still afraid. He couldn't help it. He had been scared for so long now that it seemed as though the feeling was a permanent fixture in his life now; that his paranoia guided his decisions, even here, in the safety of Bobby Singer's house.

"Sammy," Dean called his name, "Aren't you hungry?"

Sam shrugged. He stared down at his plate; it had been a long time since he'd actually had a home-cooked meal. He almost wasn't sure he should eat it.

"Do you want some soup instead?" Dean asked and Sam once again lifted his shoulders in that noncommittal gesture.

"Sam," Dean's expression turned serious, "I don't care what you eat as long as you have something, okay? Are you going to finish that pork chop or do you want soup?"

The boy swallowed, "No… I'll eat this."

He didn't want his brother or Bobby to take the food away.

Sam stabbed his fork into the green beans, gathering three or four at a time and stuffing them into his mouth without cutting them. After the beans, Sam started in on the chop. Normally a picky eater, Sam surprised both of the older hunters by consuming everything save the bone- of course- though he would have eaten that as well, had he been able to.

"Wow, Sammy," Dean muttered, "That has to be a record. Ever think about entering a pie eating contest?"

Sam knew Dean was trying to lighten the mood, make him feel better but it didn't work. Sam's dinner weighed heavy in his stomach.

Sam lowered his head, "May I be excused?"

"Sure Sam," Dean said, his tone sad as he watched his younger brother get up and walk into the living room.

The boy clambered onto the couch and sat with his legs drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on his knees. He knew Dean was trying and Sam appreciated that, really, he did. Dean had been the one to find him in Delaware but he simply couldn't shake the idea that his brother was just biding his time and that he would hurt him as his father had.

A tear of frustration leaked from Sam's eye and he sighed, unsure of what to do.

W

"D-Dad! No! Ple-please!" Sam cried out and tried to wrest his arm out from his father's grip.

John only tightened his fist and Sam whimpered in pain, "N-no."

"What did you say?" He demanded, glaring down at his son.

Tears streamed down Sam's face and he tried to catch his breath enough to speak.

"I- I d-didn't-" John shook his son, one hand still on his boy's wrist, the other gripping his shoulder, "Spit it out!"

"I didn't s-say anything," Sam muttered pitifully, "I didn't, I swear."

"Please Dad," Sam continued to beg, "Please, I won't talk again…"

John didn't respond. He released his hold on Sam's shoulder and took the cigarette he was smoking out of his mouth.

Sam's eyes widened, "No… please… not again…"

With the hand still holding Sam's wrist, John shoved his son's sleeve up- revealing old scars all down his forearm- and lowered the burning end of the cigarette.

Sam shook his head frantically, knowing that his father would not stop. He cried out when the hot end of the cigarette touched his skin and tried to pull his arm away.

John raised the hand burning his son and backhanded Sam across the face, releasing him at the same time so the boy sprawled on the floor.

"You never fucking learn, do you?" John asked and stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Sam sat up, supporting himself with his elbows, and watched as his father grabbed a beer from the fridge. The boy looked down at his arm, at the angry red burn standing out against pale skin. Maybe he'd be able to go into the bathroom and run cold water over it. Standing shakily, Sam began walking in that direction when John turned his head to look at him.

"Don't even think about it."

Sam shrank into himself; shoulders slumped and walked away from the bathroom, climbed into his bed instead and pulled the covers over his head, sniffling sadly.

He hadn't even said anything to anyone. The motel's manager had come to their door while John was out and had told Sam that his father either needed to pay for another night or leave. John had only heard that Sam had spoken to him when the manager had flagged him down as he returned, demanding the money and threatened to call the cops.

Sam closed his eyes and bit his lip, trying to ignore the pain in his arm. His wrist hurt to move it even a little and the burn throbbed.

Curling up around his injured arm, Sam tried to breath as lightly as possible, pretend he's asleep in case his father wanted to hurt him some more.

Eventually the boy's eyes closed and he drifted into an uneasy slumber, waking in the middle of the night when he rolled over onto his sore arm and finally crept into the bathroom, running the cold water tap from the sink over the pulsing burn on his forearm, trying not to look at his swollen, bruised wrist.

SPN

Dean stared unenthusiastically at his plate for a moment before standing up and heading into the living room after his brother. Bobby said nothing, didn't even look at Dean. He just took a sip of beer and continued eating.

The older brother was glad that the grizzled hunter wasn't trying to tell him what he should do. He had been prepared to hear a gruff, 'leave the boy alone' come from behind him but there was nothing.

Dean stepped into the living room and saw that Sam had one of his shirtsleeves pushed up to the elbow and he was staring at the underside of his forearm.

Frowning, the older Winchester sat on the couch beside his sibling and saw that Sam appeared to be gazing intently at the scars on his arm. Dean reached out and took hold of Sam's wrist, pulling his sleeve down with his other hand. Sam looked up at him with a deer-in-the-headlights expression for a moment before pulling his arm from Dean's grasp.

"It wasn't Dad," Dean muttered, "You know that better than anyone, Sammy. It wasn't him. It was a monster."

The boy frowned, glancing down and biting his lip.

"Sammy?" Dean tilted his head to try and catch his sibling's eye, "Dad loved us… both of us."

When the younger boy looked up, there were tears in his eyes and he shook his head.

"Sam-" Dean began but was interrupted by his brother.

"I was never good enough for him, even before you left for school," Sam said quietly, his eyes blank and his expression far-away, "I was never going to be the great hunter he wanted me to be. I was never going to be like you and he knew it."

Dean frowned, brow furrowed, "That didn't mean he didn't care about you, Sammy."

The younger boy said nothing so Dean continued, "We have different talents; just because I'm good at killing beasties, doesn't mean you have to be. You can figure out how to kill anything with all the research you do. I hate the stuff but you love reading that crap."

"He got so mad at me whenever I messed up a hunt… I almost saw him thinking about it," Sam said as though Dean hadn't spoken, "Hitting me, I mean. I could almost see the thought cross his mind whenever I got him… or you… hurt."

Dean didn't know what to say. Of course John Winchester wasn't a saint- far from it- but he couldn't fathom the man even considering laying a hand on either of them.

"Well," Dean said, swallowing the lump in his throat, "He's gone now so you don't have to worry about that."

Sam nodded once and laid his cheek against one jean-clad knee.

Dean was at a complete loss as to what he was supposed to do. His brother had seen such a different side to their father that the older boy wasn't quite sure what to think anymore.

No, Dean told himself, I know Dad. He would never hurt us; he loved us. It was all that dybbuk, not him.

Sighing, Dean wrapped a comforting arm around his brother's thin shoulders and squeezed, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes when Sam tensed at his touch.

W

Dean had been staring at the same passage for nearly ten minutes now but no matter how hard he glared at it, the words revealed nothing more. It was early morning- last night's conversation with his brother weighing heavily on his mind and preventing much sleep- but he just had to find the monster who had hurt Sam, who had masqueraded as their father and ruined his brother's memory of the man.

Bobby sat down across from him and cleared his throat loudly.

"Yeah?" Dean muttered despondently and Bobby slid the book out from under the young man's nose, closing it.

"There's something you should know about dybbuks," the veteran hunter said softly.

Dean eyed the older man suspiciously, "What?"

Bobby sighed and scratched his beard irritably, "Well, they don't like loose ends, you know. They don't get to happy if their victims survive their attack."

Dean's heart lurched and his mouth went dry with fear, "What does that mean, Bobby? Is that thing going to come back for Sam 'cause he's not dead?"

Bobby sighed and nodded, "It's a very real possibility."

"Jesus! When were you going to tell me this?!" Dean stood up angrily, the fear for his brother clear on his face.

"I called up the local rabbi and talked to him after you and Sam went to bed," Bobby replied, "Since the texts were giving us jack shit."

"Can we get rid of it? For good?" Dean asked and Bobby nodded, "But there's more you should know."

"The rabbi said that if a dybbuk's victim was not killed in the initial attack and there were any close relatives of that person around, well, let's say the monster likes to keep things in the family."

Dean's mouth went dry and he sat down heavily in his chair, "That means that it could-"

"Possess you like it possessed yer Daddy," Bobby finished ruefully.

Dean ran a hand through his short-cropped hair and sucked in a shaky breath.

"This ain't all bad, son," Bobby continued but Dean glared at him, "How can this be good, Bobby? Some fucking evil spirit could use me to hurt Sammy!"

"Well," the grizzled hunter said slowly, "We know that there is an excellent chance of it coming here and that means we can trap it and destroy it for good."

Dean laughed humorously, "Right… That'll work."

Bobby quirked an eyebrow at him, "They can't be tracked, Dean, so unless yer willing to let it go on its merry way, I don't see a problem."

Dean scowled at the older man, "But only if you agree. I can try a few warding spells an' see if they'll keep that dybbuk from getting up in ya."

The young man closed his eyes for a moment, "Can I think about this?"

"'O course you can," Bobby told him, "Just don't think on it too long."

Both older hunters looked up when Sam shuffled sleepily into the kitchen.

"Hey Sam, you ready for breakfast?" Dean asked, quickly shoving the text he'd been reading, aside.

The boy nodded and sat down, one had ruffling his sleep-mussed hair. Dean frowned at the sight of the old cigarette burns on his sibling's forearm as the sleeve of Sam's pajama top slid down.

The older brother looked at Bobby and nodded; he'd do it. Nothing was going to hurt his brother ever again. The dybbuk was going to wish it hadn't fucked with the Winchesters when they were finished with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Metallica song.


	6. Inside Job

Dean couldn't stop thinking of what Bobby had told him about dybbuks. The last thing he wanted was Sam to get hurt again, but he also couldn't bear to see the monster escape, free to hurt more innocent people like his brother.

They needed to capture the dybbuk and kill it- if that was possible- so Dean quickly dismissed Bobby's suggestion of protection wards. He began forming an idea, tentatively, not even certain Bobby would approve, but seeing no other way if he wanted to kill the bastard who had dared harm his brother. Dean didn't like it, not one bit, but he would do anything to protect Sam.

W

"Have you lost yer mind, boy?" Bobby asked, one eyebrow raised skeptically as Dean told him his idea. Sam was outside in the front yard, kicking an old soccer ball Bobby had found, against the side of the house.

"No," the young man answered, "I just don't see any other way around it. We want to catch this thing, right?"

"Yeah," the older man, "But that don't mean you've gotta go Kamikaze on me."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Nothing is going to happen. You'll be close by the whole time."

"I still don't like this, son," Bobby commented, slowly giving in, "It's a hell of a stunt to pull off, dangerous."

"And regular hunts aren't?" Dean countered and Bobby shrugged.

"You gonna tell Sam what we're doing?" the veteran hunter asked softly and Dean glanced down, biting his lip.

"I don't think so, Bobby," the young man admitted, "He'd never let me do it if he knew. It's just better if he finds out after all this."

The grizzled hunter looked skeptical.

"Look, stay close and nothing will happen," Dean told the older man, "I can handle this."

Bobby narrowed his eyes at the teen, "Mmhm."

"Trust me," Dean begged, "It'll be okay."

SPN

"Termites? Sam repeated for the third time and Dean nodded.

"That's what Bobby said," Dean commented, keeping his eyes on the road ahead of him.

"How long do we have to stay at the motel?" Sam asked, his question seeming like a harmless one but Dean heard the anxiety in his younger brother's tone.

"Just for three or four days," Dean assured his brother.

"Okay," Sam muttered and stared out the passenger window.

Dean chewed the inside of his cheek nervously. He hoped he was doing the right thing and that his plan wouldn't backfire. He almost was afraid of jinxing it, just thinking about it. The eldest Winchester had a small microphone- the type people wore when they went on talk shows- hidden in his jacket pocket so that Bobby was privy to everything the Winchesters said to one another, ready to spring into action if anything didn't sound kosher.

Sam was under the impression that Bobby had left to get some obscure relic for another hunter while his house was being filled with insecticide and would be gone for almost a week. In reality, the veteran hunter had rented out the room next to the Winchesters' at the motel so that he would be on the scene within seconds when he was needed.

Dean felt bad keeping his plan from his brother but in reality, he wasn't even completely sure it would work. There was a chance that the dybbuk wouldn't take the bait, that it would bide its time and strike weeks, months, even years from now, so Dean didn't see the point in frightening his brother over something that might not happen for a long time.

If Dean's plan didn't work and the monster didn't show its ugly mug, then there would be no harm done. Sam and Dean would have spent a few days at some motel and would be no worse for wear.

If everything went right and the dybbuk appeared, well, it would have to answer to Dean Winchester and the young man was not about to show it any mercy.

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot and parked in front of the door to their room. Glancing to his left, he saw the car Bobby was driving while undercover; a lime green Dodge minivan and Dean smirked.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean opened his door, "I gotta get the keys."

With his younger brother trudging along the sidewalk after him, Dean prayed to anyone who was listening to give him the strength he'd need to protect his sibling.

SPN

Bobby Singer paced the motel room worriedly. All he could do was go over Dean's plan and how incredibly stupid it sounded. So many things could go wrong.

"I should have put my foot down," the grizzled hunter lamented.

"Maybe there's still time to knock some sense into that idjit," Bobby muttered and pulled his cell phone out, dialing Dean's number.

The phone rang for such a long time that the older hunter wondered if Dean was just going to ignore him but then the young man picked up.

"Dean, listen to me-" Bobby began but was interrupted.

"Oh, hey Bobby! Sam and I are fine, just checking into our room now."

"Would you stop, ya idjit!" Bobby snarled.

"We'll behave. No parties; got it," Dean continued and Bobby growled, "Don't make me come over there!"

The younger man didn't rely so Bobby took that as his cue to speak, "I have a bad feeling about this, son. We'll find another way to kill that dybbuk, alright?"

There was a long pause and Bobby heard a door close.

"I have everything under control," Dean whispered into the receiver, "Please, trust me on this."

Bobby sighed and ran his fingers through his reddish hair, "Okay, okay. But if you start to get a bad feeling, call me right away. Deal?"

"Deal. Talk to you later," Dean agreed and hung up.

Bobby glanced over at the wall that the two motel room's shared and hoped that he wasn't making a mistake.

SPN

"What do you want for dinner, Sammy?" Dean asked, looking over at his brother lying on his stomach on the bed furthest from the door, attention focused on the television screen.

The younger boy shrugged noncommittally, "Whatever you want."

Dean frowned, "C'mon Sam, you have to want something. What are you hungry for?"

Sam turned towards his brother and Dean could have sworn he looked nervous.

"Uh… well… I haven't had pizza in a while," the fourteen-year old muttered hopefully.

Dean nodded, beaming, "Pizza it is then."

He grabbed the landline phone that sat on the nightstand between the two beds and dialed the number for the closest pizza place.

SPN

It had been a long time since Sam had had pizza. The last time he could remember had been after Dean had left for Stanford.

Sam lowered his hand and stared at the slice of pepperoni pizza he was holding.

"Sam? Are you okay?" Dean asked through a mouthful of crust and meat and sauce.

Sam nodded and put his slice back into the cardboard box, "I'm not hungry anymore."

Dean's eyebrows knitted together, "Okay. You sure?"

Sam nodded and wiped his greasy fingers on his napkin. The boy jumped down from his bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door after himself. Sam leaned against the door for a moment, wiping hastily at his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to push the bad memories back and failing. Sam slid down into a sitting position, pulling his legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees.

"SAM!" the boy jumped at the sound of his father's angry voice, "Get the hell out here, now!"

Scrambling up, the teen opened the door and stared into John's angry face. The man grabbed the boy by his shirtfront and yanked him from the room.

"The hell is that?" John asked, pointing one calloused finger at the empty pizza box sitting on the table.

Oh God! Sam had forgotten to get rid of the box!

"P-Pizza," Sam stammered, his heart sinking and his stomach turning cold.

"Pizza?" John asked as though he didn't quite understand.

He shouldn't be back this soon. He was supposed to out all night hunting.

Sam nodded, tears pricking his eyes.

"Where did you get it?" the father asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"I- I bought it," Sam answered, knowing whatever he said would only enrage his father more.

"Bought it?! With what? You don't have any money," John crowed in disbelief, his tone amused.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath. If he lied, his father was bound to know. It would be better just to tell him what he'd done and get his punishment over with.

"I- I t-took the money," Sam whispered, his voice barely audible, "J-Just a twenty… from y-your wallet. Last night."

It took a moment for John to comprehend what Sam was telling him before his face went beet red, eyes bulging in fury.

Sam raised his arms over his head as blows rained down on him.

"D-Dad! St-stop! Please!" Sam begged but John was beyond reason, "T-There was no f-food here!"

Sam sprawled on the ground and curled up, covering his face as his father began to kick him.

John's boot connected with his son's head and for a moment everything went black. Sam was certain he was going to pass out. Instead, the world returned in sharp focus and his father pulled him up by the collar of his shirt.

Face to face with the older man, Sam cringed away from the livid expression.

"If I ever find out you stole from me again," John hissed, spraying spittle at Sam, "You will live to regret it, I shit you not."

Sam nodded frantically; having no doubt that he would, and fell back when John let go of his shirt.

"Go to bed," the eldest Winchester ordered and Sam hurried to obey, jumping onto the mattress furthest away from his father and tugging the blankets over his head, huddling underneath.

W

"Sam?" Dean's voice jarred the fourteen-year old from his memories and he stood up quickly, wiping his face on his sleeve.

"You okay in there?"

The young man opened the bathroom door and saw his older brother standing before him, a worried expression on his face.

"Y-Yeah," Sam muttered, "Fine."

Dean didn't look convinced but he nodded, "If you're sure."

Sam shrugged, "I-I'm kind of tired."

"Okay," Dean instantly stepped out of the way so the younger man could get past him.

Without changing his clothes, Sam climbed onto his bed and covered himself with the blankets, huddling underneath.

SPN

Dean frowned at the shrouded form of his brother beneath the motel duvet. Even though he had never hurt Sam, he felt like the bad guy.

He longed to call Bobby and talk about his plan but he knew he couldn't risk Sam overhearing the conversation.

Sighing, Dean sat at the end of his bed and turned on the television, watching a show quietly until his eyelids began to slide shut of their own accord.

W

Maybe I jumped the gun on this one, Dean thought on the morning of their third day at the motel.

The past forty-eight hours had involved nothing but eating greasy take-out food and watching bad television. Just like the old days.

There was no sign of the dybbuk.

Dean glanced over at his brother poking his spoon into his soggy bowl of cereal, a sad expression on his young face.

I shouldn't have made Sam stay in a motel. What the hell was I thinking? Dean chastised himself.

Clearly, their current living conditions were only dredging up bad memories for his brother.

Sam had become more quiet and withdrawn than ever. Not even looking at Dean anymore. It was almost like living with a ghost.

I'm gonna call it off, Dean decided, that's it. I was wrong.

"Hey Sammy," Dean spoke up and Sam refused to acknowledge him, "You wanna finish up soon?"

Sam continued playing with his mushy cereal.

Sighing, Dean stood and ran a hand through his hair.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang and glancing down, Dean's eyes widened when he saw Molly Llewellyn's name light up on the screen.

Torn between telling his brother that they were going to head back to Bobby's and the temptation to talk to his friend, Dean chose the latter. Besides, he wouldn't be long.

"I'll be right back," Dean assured his sibling, not that Sam acknowledged him.

Stepping out the motel room and walking a few feet down the sidewalk, Dean finally answered the call.

"Molly?"

"Dean, what the heck's going on? You've been gone for a week and no one knows where you've gone!" Molly exclaimed, sounding worried and relieved at the same time.

"Sorry, I, uh, had a family emergency I had to deal with," Dean answered, feeling ridiculous.

"Oh, is everything okay?" Molly asked, concern tinging her voice, "Everyone is worried about you here."

"There's still some things that need to be sorted out, Moll," Dean explained, his throat tightening.

"Are you coming back to school?" the girl asked and Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

"I don't… I'm not sure," he hedged.

"You're going to miss finals," Molly informed him.

"I can't come back… not now at least," Dean replied.

"Oh…" Molly answered, sounding disappointed.

"Listen, I can't really talk right now," Dean spoke up before the girl could say anything else, "I'll call you later. Okay?"

"Dean-" Molly began but was cut off when the teen closed his cell phone.

Dean slipped the phone into the pocket of his jeans, turned around to head back inside and the dybbuk struck.

SPN

Dean's plan could go wrong in so many ways but if it didn't, if he managed to pull it off, well that would be a miracle.

Bobby went over Dean's idea over in his head, hoping to God the young man knew what he was doing.

"If the dybbuk is after Sam," Dean had begun, trying to sound as reasonable as possible, "Than we might as well be ready for it."

Bobby had nodded, because, of course they didn't want to be caught with their pants down.

As Dean continued though, the veteran hunter had to wonder what he had been doing while he'd been away in California.

"Since it's coming for a family member- that'd probably be me right- then we should kill it while we've got it," Dean told Bobby and the older man frowned.

"The hell you saying?" the grizzled hunter had asked so Dean obliged him.

"We let the dybbuk possess me and then kill it or exorcise it- whatever you do to them- before it can get to Sam," Dean had replied, calmly, seriously.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Bobby had exclaimed in disbelief.

Dean had shook his head, "It's the only way. If we don't do this, that thing could be gone forever!"

"How the hell are we gonna know if its in ya?" Bobby had asked smugly.

"Microphones. I keep one and you keep one," Dean had answered, "When I start acting out, you'll know it isn't me."

"And then what am I supposed to do?" Bobby wanted to know, "Hit you over the head and drag you back here to exorcise the dybbuk?"

Dean had shrugged, "Well, yeah."

Bobby shook his head, "It ain't going to work."

"It will. We can make it work. You're the best hunter I know," Dean protested, "All we have to do is be ready. Get stuff ready here and have you stick close by when it happens."

Bobby couldn't believe Dean was even suggesting something like this.

"It's too dangerous," he had argued.

Dean had taken a shaky breath, his eyes red-rimmed, "Please, Bobby. This thing killed Dad and almost killed Sammy. We have to make sure it never hurts anyone again."

Bobby had thought about it for a minute before agreeing. He was sure though, that he'd regret his decision.

W

At the same time Bobby's microphone, tiny thing that it was- the type that people on talk shows clipped to their shirts for clearer sound- was picking up Dean's conversation with Molly Llewellyn, the hunter in question was not in fact, listening in. No, Bobby had received an anxious call from a young, rookie hunter about how to get rid of some rather violent pixies and had rushed back to the Salvage Yard for a book on English Folklore and had forgotten all about the microphone.

SPN

Sam didn't even look up when Dean opened the door and stepped inside.

"Why aren't you ready? I told you to clean up five minutes ago," Dean snapped and Sam did look up at his sibling for the first time since waking up.

"I'm sorry-" Sam began but Dean shook his head, "Don't be sorry, just get your ass moving."

The boy frowned but did as he was told. He scraped his cereal into the trashcan and set his bowl and spoon on the table.

"Get your stuff," Dean announced, "We're leaving."

"Why?" Sam asked, "I thought we were staying here while they sprayed Bobby's house."

Dean glared at him, "Did I ask a question? Let's go."

Sam obediently grabbed his duffle bag and followed Dean out to the car. He wondered whom Dean had been talking to on the phone. Maybe that was why his brother was suddenly in such a bad mood.

"Are we going back to Bobby's?" Sam asked hopefully as he climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala.

"No," Dean answered simply and cranked the radio to an ear-splitting volume, Motorhead's 'All Gone To Hell' blaring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Pearl Jam song.


	7. Meet The Monster

Sam looked nervously at his brother.

"Where are we going?" he asked quietly.

Dean didn't respond.

Sam stared out the window, biting his lip.

What was wrong? He wondered. Why was Dean being so mean? Why wasn't he saying anything?

Sam sat up taller in his seat when he realized that they were headed out of Sioux Falls.

"Why are we leaving?" Sam ventured, "Why aren't we going back to Bobby's?"

"Shut up," Dean growled.

"Did I do something wrong?" the teen asked meekly.

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened but he said nothing.

"Please, Dean," Sam begged, "Say something."

The young man's phone suddenly trilled the chords to 'Smoke on the Water' but he ignored it.

"Dean, who called you?" Sam asked again.

Dean tore his gaze away from the road and glared at Sam, "A girl from school."

The teen's eyes widened. That was it. Dean was angry with him. Because of him, Dean had had to leave college and his friends must be wondering where he was.

Sam lowered his head, "I'm sorry."

Dean didn't reply. He just kept driving.

SPN

"Alright, Rich, it says here that you can get rid of pixies with silver. Do you have any silver?" Bobby asked, his ear to the phone as he talked with the greenhorn.

"Uh, yeah, but they're bullets for werewolves," the kid replied.

"As long as there's enough to scatter around the house," Bobby told him, "Those pixies should give it a wide berth."

"Okay, thanks Bobby," Rich answered happily.

"Don't mention it," the grizzled hunter grumbled and hung up the phone.

Bobby leaned back in the chair behind his desk and scratched his ruddy beard, thinking.

Feels like I'm forgetting something, he mused, but what the hell is it?

After a moment the hunter's grey eyes widened. The microphone!

"Balls!" Bobby exclaimed and rushed out the door, climbed into his truck and gunned the engine.

"Dean's gonna kill me," Bobby muttered as he headed back to the motel.

W

Bobby's heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest when he saw that the Impala was missing from its parking spot in front of Sam and Dean's motel room.

Don't start panicking, old man; Bobby told himself, they probably just needed to get away from the room for a little bit.

Bobby parked in his spot and got out of his truck.

SPN

Sam looked up when Dean pulled the Chevy over onto the gravel shoulder of the road. Peering out the window, Sam saw trees surrounding them on either side.

"What are we doing here?" he asked as Dean turned the radio off.

"Going for a little hike," his older brother told him.

Sam frowned. They were hiking? Now?

Something isn't right, a voice in Sam's head said and he instantly went cold.

Dean got out of the car and stood by the open door, "Get out. We're going for a walk."

"I- I don't w-want to, Dean," Sam stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

Dean slammed the door closed so hard Sam jumped. He walked around the back of the car, opening the trunk and pulling a shovel out. Closing the lid, Dean continued around to his brother's side of the car. Sam pressed the locking mechanism down on his door but Dean pulled out his car keys, tossing the shovel on the ground.

"Don't make me drag you out here," Dean threatened, his tone serious.

Sam didn't move. He seemed frozen in place.

"You asked for it," Dean told him and unlocked the door himself.

Sam shrank back as Dean grabbed his arm tightly, unbuckling his seatbelt with his free hand.

"Dean! No!" Sam cried and grabbed onto the inside door handle as he was dragged from the car.

"Let go of the door, Sam," Dean ordered but the teen refused.

Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's hand holding the door and pried his fingers open.

"Dean! No! Please!" Sam cried as his sibling pulled him away from the car.

Dean released Sam and he fell to the ground.

"Get up," Dean demanded, picking up the shovel, "Or I'll drag you the rest of the way."

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes, "Why are you doing this?"

"GET UP!" Dean shouted and kicked at Sam.

"Please," Sam whimpered as he stood, shaking, "Please don't hurt me."

"Go," Dean pointed to the trees on the side of the road.

"I'm s-sorry," Sam apologized, "I'm sorry. Please… please…"

Dean didn't move. His expression darkened however to one Sam had seen many times over the past year, it was the same one John wore when his youngest knew he was in deep trouble.

Sam started crying.

"I'll give you something to fucking cry about," Dean threatened, one hand curled into a fist, "If you don't start walking."

Sam stumbled forward, almost blinded by tears, and slipped into the forest.

SPN

Bobby sighed as he picked the microphone up from where he had left it and attached it to his shirt again.

Turning the tiny device on, the grizzled hunter frowned when strange sounds emanated from it.

There was an odd rustling sound and heavy breathing. He could also hear the faint sound of what might have been crying.

Unless the brothers had gone to take in a horror movie, something was seriously wrong.

"Balls!" Bobby swore, grabbed the bag containing the supplies for exorcising a dybbuk and ran out the door.

SPN

Sam stumbled, landing heavily on his hands and knees.

Dean stopped and waited.

Sam wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand and looked up at his brother, "Dean… please… I'm sorry-"

Sam pitched backwards as his brother's boot connected with his chin. The teen lay stunned for a moment, his lip and the skin on his chin split and bleeding, before he recovered.

Sam clapped his hands to his face, tears streaming down his cheeks, and stared at his brother.

"Get up, keep walking," was all Dean said.

SPN

"Goddamn it Dean! I knew this was a bad idea!" Bobby growled as he tore through town, trying to figure out where the boys could have gone, "Stupid, stubborn son of a bitch!"

Bobby just prayed that he was going the right way and that he'd make it in time to save both boys.

SPN

"Stop here," Dean ordered and Sam fell to his knees.

The clearing was small, with tall trees surrounding it. They were utterly alone, not even birds called out among the branches.

Dean dropped the shovel beside Sam.

"Start digging."

The teen looked up at his brother with round, wet eyes.

"DIG!" Dean shouted and Sam grabbed the handle of the shovel, shoving the spade into the ground and pulling himself up.

Blood from his lip and chin had flowed down his neck and t-shirt, staining both a rusty red. Sam's palms were slick with sweat as he dug the spade into the dirt. His vision blurred as hot tears continued to stream from his eyes.

"Faster!" Dean barked and Sam whimpered, hunching his shoulders.

"Wh-what did I d-do?" Sam asked, "To make you so m-mad at me?"

"You want to know?" Dean asked, stepping close to Sam, "Hm? Well, for starters, you killed my mother!"

The teen cringed at the accusation.

"If you hadn't been born, Mom would still be alive! It's your fault she's dead!" Dean snarled.

"I never wanted to be a hunter! I wanted a normal life!" Dean continued, his face red with rage.

"Did I say you could stop digging?" Dean snapped suddenly.

Sam had paused because Dean was standing mere inches away, towering over him. The teen shook his head and dug the spade into the dirt again.

"I don't expect you to understand; you've only known hunting," Dean kept on, "Dad should have pushed you to be better. But no, it was always me because I was good at killing things."

"I got out though," Dean said, his voice tinged with happiness, "I was going to start a new life- a normal life- without you or Dad."

Sam gasped as his sweaty hands slipped off the shovel's handle and it fell.

Dean bent down, grabbed the shovel and shoved it at Sam.

"Then you had to call," Dean said slowly, "Because you couldn't handle a little discipline."

Sam shook his head, "H-He beat me, Dean."

"And you shot him!" Dean cried, "You murdered our father!"

"He wasn't Dad!" Sam shouted back before he could stop himself.

Dean reached out and pushed Sam, sending him crashing to the ground.

Sam cried out in pain when Dean stomped on his abdomen, curling in on himself. He yelped when his brother kicked him in the back.

"You fucking piece of shit!" Dean shouted, "You lied to Bobby and me but I don't believe it anymore! You shot our Dad dead in cold blood!"

Sam covered his head with his hands, face pressed against the ground.

He cried out when Dean grabbed his hair and yanked his head up.

"Keep digging," he hissed and released Sam as though he had been touching something disgusting.

Slowly, painfully, Sam picked up the shovel and swung the spade end at his brother's head.

Dean though, saw it coming and grabbed the handle, wrenching it away from Sam.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you," Dean grinned.

SPN

Bobby slammed on the breaks when he caught sight of the Impala parked at the side of the old logging road.

Thank God I picked the right direction, the grizzled hunter thought as he climbed out of his truck.

Grabbing the bag of supplied, Bobby took only a moment to figure out which direction the Winchesters had gone.

There was a clear trail of crushed foliage and disturbed leaf litter leading through the trees.

"Don't worry, boys," Bobby said under his breath, "I'm coming."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Five Finger Death Punch song.


	8. Let You Down

Bobby irritably pushed branches out of his way, yanking his feet through weeds that seemed intent on tripping him up.

He trudged on however, determined to reach the Winchesters before it was too late.

He'd never forgive himself if something happened to either boy and he'd been too slow to arrive in time.

Struggling through the trees, Bobby reached a clearing in time to see Dean standing over his brother, shovel raised high as though he meant to bring the metal spade down on Sam's head.

"Dean!" Bobby cried, causing the older teen to pause.

"Bobby!" Sam called, turning to face the older man.

The grizzled hunter saw the lower half of the teen's face was coated in blood, his cheeks red and blotchy with tears, and his eyes wide and frightened.

Dean snarled and turned his attention on the older man.

"What the hell're you doing?" Bobby accused, distracting the older brother further.

The young man dropped the shovel and lunged at the veteran hunter.

Bobby quickly sidestepped Dean- the creature possessing him made clumsy with rage- and looked up to see Sam swing the handle-end of the shovel at the back of his brother's head as hard as he could.

The wood connected with Dean's skull with a dull crack and the teen pitched forward, out cold.

"B-Bobby," Sam said, his thin chest heaving, and dropped the shovel.

"It'll be alright, son," Bobby said, "Once we get that sumbitch out of him."

Sam nodded, "It wasn't really Dean… I… I know it wasn't… but…"

"Can you help me tie 'im up?" Bobby asked, "We'll have to do the exorcism right here."

Sam shook his head but stepped forward cautiously.

Digging into the bag he had brought, Bobby pulled out the supplies he'd need: ropes, a book of exorcisms given to him by a Rabbi friend, and an empty flask.

Bobby bent down and pulled the unconscious Winchester into a sitting position. There was a gash on the back of Dean's head but they would worry about that later.

"Wrap those ropes 'round his middle," Bobby instructed Sam, holding Dean still, "Make sure to get his arms too."

Sam did as he was told, pulling the ropes tighter than necessary but the older hunter didn't say anything.

Next, Bobby pulled a pair of handcuffs from the bag and slipped them over Dean's ankles to prevent the young man from running away.

"Good job, son," Bobby praised Sam but the young man just sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand, staring at his brother.

Dean was sitting up, slumped forward slightly. Knowing that they couldn't wait, Bobby hauled back and smacked Dean full across the face.

The teen's eyes snapped open and he gasped in shock. Sam scooted away from Dean fearfully, looking up at Bobby helplessly.

The grizzled hunter licked a finger and hoped the book of exorcisms, holding it in one hand while he clutched the empty flask in the other.

Before the dybbuk had a chance to rally itself, Bobby began the exorcism.

The creature laughed, "That won't work, old man! Not without my true name and there's no way I'll give it to you!"

Bobby didn't even look up, "Sam, there's a bottle of holy water in the bag; I think yer brother's thirsty."

The boy moved quickly, keeping as much distance from himself and his brother as possible.

"What happened, Sammy?" Dean asked, "You listen to Bobby but not me or Dad?"

"Ignore him," the grizzled hunter said as Sam pulled a plastic water bottle from the bag, there was a rosary floating in the liquid.

"Bobby doesn't love you," Dean sneered, "He doesn't love anything."

Sam glanced at the grizzled hunter but Bobby shook his head.

"That's why he never came to check on you," the older Winchester said, "Even when you called him. He didn't care. He believed Dad and didn't bother questioning him."

"Holy water," Bobby said and Sam pulled the cap off the bottle, dropping it onto the ground.

Sam inched as close to Dean as he dared and splashed him with the water, catching his brother's chest.

Dean cried out in pain as his shirt darkened with the liquid and steam rose from the contact site.

"You'll pay for that, you little shit!" Dean threated his sibling.

Sam scrambled back tearfully, afraid that his brother would break through the ropes holding him but surprisingly, Dean didn't. He struggled against them but his efforts were futile.

Why couldn't he break free? A dybbuk was a spirit, like a demon, and Sam knew demons had super-strength. Maybe dybbuks didn't.

As though reading the fourteen-year old's mind, Bobby said, "He can't break through. They may be mean as hell but dybbuk's are no more stronger than the person they're possessing."

Sam's eyes widened and he nodded.

Bobby cleared his throat and continued to exorcism, demanding the spirit tell them its name.

Dean just laughed. Sam splashed him with holy water again, in the face this time.

"I command you in the name of God and all His Saints and Angels! Reveal your name to me!" Bobby ordered loudly, "I command you, spawn of darkness, to reveal your name!"

"You're going to die," Dean told Sam, "You're going to die slowly and painfully."

"I command you in the name of Saints Michael and Gabriel…" Bobby continued to recite but the exorcism had no effect.

Sam almost crushed the water bottle he was holding onto it so tightly. He wanted to do something to help Bobby, help Dean but he was scared.

Taking a deep breath, Sam spoke to the dybbuk, "Don't you want me to know? Don't you want me to know your name before I die?"

Sam's heart jackhammered in his chest but he continued, "Don't you want me to know the name of the monster that kills me? See my face when you tell me?"

Bobby faltered, listening to the young man.

"Or are you just going to hide behind Dean? Like you did with Dad?"

The dybbuk scowled, "I'm not as stupid as you think I am; I'm not going to tell my name!"

Sam shrugged, trying his hardest to appear calm.

"Fine," he said, "But that doesn't make you very scary. A dybbuk named Dean doesn't really strike fear."

Bobby raised his eyebrows. Sam was trying to goad the creature into telling them its name!

Dean gritted his teeth, "Give up! You're wasting your breath!"

Sam replied by splashing Dean with holy water again.

The eighteen-year old's hazel eyes burned with hate.

"You'll live to regret that," he hissed.

Sam looked at Bobby. He didn't know what to do.

"No wonder Dad did what he did," Dean said, "Look what you're doing to me, Sam!"

The boy took a step back. No, it wasn't Dean it was a monster, a dybbuk.

"There's something wrong with you," Dean continued, "Tying me up, torturing me…"

"Shut up!" Sam snapped, "You're not Dean!"

Dean didn't though.

"You're the monster, Sam," he accused, "Not me. You killed Mom and then Dad and… are you going to kill me now too?"

"Don't listen, Sam," Bobby told the boy and started reciting the exorcism again with renewed vigor.

"You're going to kill your big brother?" Dean asked, "The one who rescued you from that motel room after what happened to Dad?"

Sam shook his head, trying to ignore his sibling's words.

"You're sick, Sam," Dean said, "You need help."

"I… I…" the younger brother stammered. He was so confused.

"Untie me, Sammy," Dean begged, "And we'll get you some help. I promise."

Sam looked up at Bobby but the grizzled hunter was too focused on the exorcism.

"I won't be mad," Dean said, "I promise. I'll forget all of this. It's not your fault."

Dean's eye twitched and his jaw clenched tight, apparently the exorcism was finally starting to work.

"Wh- Why'd you try and hurt me?" Sam asked, wrapping his arms around his aching midsection.

Dean's expression turned sympathetic, "That wasn't me, Sammy, that wasn't. You… You're seeing things… imagining things…"

Sam gulped in a deep breath and shook his head.

"You ran off and I was trying to find you… you ran into the woods," Dean told him, "I found you with the shovel and you attacked me."

"No," Sam muttered, "No… that's not what happened."

Dean's mouth twisted in pain and he cut eyes at Bobby.

"You'll never get me to tell, old man."

Sam didn't know what was happening. He didn't know what was real. Was there a dybbuk possessing Dean? Had that dybbuk hurt him? Or was it just Dean? Was Dean really mad at him- mad enough to kill him- or was he just crazy?

Sam scooted back, away from Dean and Bobby. He lifted his hands and grabbed the sides of his head.

Dean shuddered and growled out a single word: a name.

Bobby smirked, flipped the pages of the book and landed on the exorcism that would remove the dybbuk from Dean's body and into the flask he held.

Sam had had enough. He stood shakily and backpedaled. He made it to the edge of the clearing before he heard Bobby call his name.

The grizzled hunter couldn't do anything until he knew that Dean was safe, which meant finishing the exorcism.

"Why don't you run after him, old man?" Dean ground out.

Bobby's only reply was to continue reciting the words written in the book. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of Sam slipping into the trees.

SPN

Tears slipped down Sam's face as he stumbled through the woods.

He held his hands out, pushing branches and twigs out of the way as he went.

Sam stumbled and fell to the ground, landing so that his chin painfully struck the leaf littered floor.

The teen didn't bother getting back up. He curled in on his side, knees drawn up to his chest and started rocking.

SPN

Bobby held the flask as steady as he could as white smoke spilled from Dean's mouth and headed straight for him.

The dybbuk was sucked into the bottle like it was a vacuum cleaner. The grizzled hunter slammed the lid on the mouth of the flask, turning it as tight as possible when the smoky tail disappeared inside.

Dropping both the bottle and the book into the bag, the hunter turned his attention back to the teenager slumped on the ground before him.

"Dean," Bobby said as he untied the ropes from the young man's torso, "Can you hear me, son?"

"Uh… B-Bobby?" Dean muttered and opened his eyes, "W-what was that?"

"Yer an idjit."

Dean blinked and sat up with Bobby's help, one hand going to the back of his head.

"Why am I bleeding?" he asked, touching the back of his head gingerly before looking around the clearing.

"Where's Sam?!" Dean struggled to stand up but Bobby held a hand against his chest as he unlocked the handcuffs around his ankles.

Once the teen's legs were free, Bobby gripped Dean's shoulders.

"You nearly killed yer brother because o' that thing," Bobby told him and Dean's face blanched.

"Where is he?" Dean asked, eyes darting around.

"Ran off into the woods," Bobby told him.

"I have to find him," Dean insisted and Bobby helped him up.

"Oh no you don't," the grizzled hunter told, him.

Pulling the keys to his truck from the pocket of his vest, Bobby shoved them into Dean's hand.

"Yer going back to the road and getting in my car," he told the younger man, "I'll get Sam."

"But-" Dean began but Bobby interrupted.

"You've done enough damage with your stupidity, boy," the veteran hunter snapped, "Get me truck, go pick yer things up from the motel and get back to my house."

Dean didn't argue.

"Gimme yer keys," Bobby demanded and Dean handed him the Impala's keys.

Dean grabbed the bag- shoving the ropes, shovel and handcuffs into it- and started away from the clearing, his shoulders slumping dejectedly.

SPN

"Sam!"

Dean heard Bobby calling his brother's name and resisted the urge to join the search despite the older hunter's instructions.

He had fucked up. Badly. He knew that and it wouldn't make things better to terrify his brother even more.

Dean sighed shakily, "I'm sorry, Sammy."

He remembered everything that he had done since that phone call from Molly. He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about how he had hurt his baby brother.

He didn't blame Sam at all. Not for their mother's death or John's.

He hoped that Sam hadn't gone far and that Bobby would find him soon. He needed to tell Sam those things himself.

He had promised to keep Sam safe. To protect him from the dybbuk but he'd failed. Instead, his brilliant plan had backfired and almost gotten his baby brother killed.

He'd let his brother down.

He only hoped that he could make amends for his actions and show Sam that he loved him.

That he wasn't a monster out to hurt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a 3 Days Grace song.


	9. Trust

Bobby wanted nothing more than to wring Dean Winchester's neck for his stupidity.

Fortunately for the young man, that would have to wait.

Bobby needed to find Sam first.

"Sam!" the veteran hunter shouted, one hand at his mouth to try and project his voice even further.

He hoped the boy hadn't run too far. It would be dark soon and the hunter did not want the young teen to be alone in the woods by himself.

"Sam! Son, where are you?"

The veteran hunter swept the leaf-littered floor with his eyes, searching for signs that the youngest Winchester had passed this way.

Bobby walked for about five more minutes, squinting through the dense trees and hollering the teen's name before he finally caught sight of the boy's tee shirt through the green of the leaves.

"Sam!" Bobby cried and rushed forward.

The fourteen year old was lying on his side, curled up against the forest floor.

"Sam? Son, y'all right?"

What a stupid question. Of course the boy wasn't alright.

But Sam opened his eyes at the sound of the old hunter's voice.

"Son, let's get you home," Bobby said softly, gently and reached down.

The teen cringed away from him.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Bobby murmured soothingly, "Let me just help you up."

The veteran hunter reached out and placed his hands beneath Sam's armpits- ignoring the fact that the boy was trembling- and lifted the teen into a standing position.

Bobby held Sam at arm's length for a long moment before pulling the fourteen-year old into a bear hug.

"S'alright, son," Bobby murmured, one hand against the back of Sam's head, "It's all going to be alright."

The older hunter didn't let go and Sam didn't flinch away from the sign of affection. Bobby barely noticed at the damp spot forming on the shoulder of his shirt as Sam cried.

After a long while, Sam finally broke contact. He looked up at Bobby and wiped at his weepy eyes.

"Wh-what's happened, B-Bobby?"

"It was a dybbuk that possessed your brother," the hunter told him softly, "The same one that got yer Daddy."

"S-So I'm n-not crazy?" Sam asked, wide-eyed.

Bobby shook his head.

"Yer one of the most down-to-earth young men I have ever met," the veteran hunter said, "If yer crazy, then I'm a monkey's uncle."

One corner of Sam's lip twitched but he didn't really smile.

"Let's get you back home, Son," Bobby said and slowly the two headed through the forest towards the road.

W

Bobby glanced at Sam from the corner of his eye as he drove the Impala back to his Salvage Yard.

Sam hadn't said another word since the forest and that troubled Bobby. The boy's expression was distant, his face almost slack.

He guessed the shock had finally taken hold of the young man.

Bobby just hoped that the damage the dybbuk had wrought this time could be repaired. The veteran hunter didn't care about Sam's physical injuries so much- they would heal in no time- but the psychological and emotional wounds might not.

And after all the boy had been through the past year with his father, believing his brother was out for his blood was the last thing Sam needed.

SPN

Dean drove much to fast as he returned to town and headed in the direction of the motel.

He wanted nothing more than to keep driving, to stay as far away from Sam as possible.

Not because he didn't love his little brother; he did. He would die for his sibling. But because he couldn't bear the thought of Sam being afraid of him.

It had been bad enough since he had taken Sam from the motel room in Delaware, but now, he had been the one to attack his baby brother and make him feel worthless.

Dean was certain Sam would hate him forever now.

He pulled Bobby's clunky old truck into the parking lot of the motel and into the spot right in front of the room. Glancing around the interior of the cab, Dean spied a key fob almost exactly like the one in his own pocket sitting on the dashboard- the key to Bobby's room.

The eighteen-year old grabbed this and exited the vehicle, deciding that he should grab the old hunter's stuff as well.

There wasn't much left in the motel room. Sam had already taken both their duffels out to the Impala on Dean's orders but still the teen checked.

He found a pair of stray socks and a crumpled t-shirt in the bathroom. Other than that, the room was empty.

Dean grabbed the clothes and turned to leave then paused and looked back.

Why had this ever been a good idea?

Why hadn't he listened to Bobby?

Why did he think he was stronger than a dybbuk? His father hadn't been?

Sighing heavily, Dean tossed the shirt and socks onto the passenger's seat of Bobby's truck before heading into the hunter's room.

SPN

Bobby frowned slightly when he saw that his truck wasn't in the driveway of the Salvage Yard.

Dean wasn't back.

Perhaps it was for the best that Sam didn't see his brother just yet.

The young man was still out of it. Bobby climbed from the Chevy and made his way to the passenger side, opening the door and unbuckling Sam's seat belt.

Lucky for Bobby that Sam was small for his age and thin after a year of neglect and abuse. He bent down and gathered the boy in his arms and carried him from the vehicle.

Once inside, Bobby took Sam upstairs and settled him onto bed. The boy stared at the veteran hunter for a long moment before cringing, drawing his shoulders in and whimpering.

"S'alright, Son," Bobby murmured, "I'm not gonna hurt you. Need to look at yer face though."

Sam allowed Bobby to examine his split lip and chin silently, all the while gazing fearfully at the older man.

Bobby decided that the cuts wouldn't need stitches at all, just a good cleaning, and headed into the bathroom to grab the First Aid Kit.

When he returned to the bedroom, Sam was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs.

Slowly, he made his way across the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Can I help you?" Bobby asked and Sam nodded almost imperceptibly.

Opening the kit, the grizzled hunter took out an antiseptic wipe and tore open its package. Unfolding the moist towelette, Bobby lifted Sam's chin gently with his free hand.

"This'll sting a bit," he warned Sam and dabbed at the gash on the boy's chin.

The boy sucked in a deep breath and flinched once but made no sound. The gash began weeding once it was clear of dried blood and dirt but Bobby could see that it would heal on its own.

Laying the wipe aside, Bobby decided he should check Sam for other injuries while he was at it. Before Sam had had enough and shut him out completely.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked softly.

Sam's arms wrapped around his middle as a response and Bobby frowned.

"Can you lift your shirt up for me, Son?"

Sam grabbed the hem of his t-shirt- one of the new ones Bobby had bought for him, the veteran hunter noticed- and yanked his shirt high.

The boy's abdomen was marred by an oblong bruise that was already a nasty purple hue and a scrape that looked more painful than damaging.

Bobby reached out to feel Sam's ribs- make sure none were broken- but the teen drew away from him, dropping his shirt.

"Alright," the older man murmured, "I think that's enough for now."

Grabbing the First Aid Kit, Bobby stood, "You lie down and get some sleep."

Sam stared up at him with wide green eyes.

"You're safe, Son," Bobby assured him, "I promise."

The hunter turned away and he heard Sam move to lie in the bed.

Bobby put the Kit back in the bathroom and headed downstairs.

In the kitchen he put a pot of coffee on and sat down at the table, taking his hat off and running a hand through his thinning hair.

SPN

Dean stepped into Bobby's house cautiously. He wasn't quite sure what to expect.

"In here," Bobby's voice called from the kitchen and Dean followed the sound, finding the older hunter sitting at the table with a mug of coffee.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked anxiously.

"Upstairs getting some rest," Bobby told him, "Coffee's fresh if you want any."

Dean poured himself a cup of the dark, hot liquid gratefully and sat across from Bobby.

"How is he?" he asked, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic mug.

"Scared," Bobby said bluntly, "But not hurt too badly."

Dean's eyes pinched.

"It could'a been a lot worse," the grizzled hunter told him.

Dean nodded and took a sip of coffee, the steaming beverage burning his throat on the way down.

"I was going to kill him," he whispered, "I was making him dig his own grave and then I was going to kill him."

Bobby shook his head, "That wasn't you, Son. It was that bastard dybbuk."

Dean nodded once and rubbed at his eyes.

"Speaking of," Bobby said, "Where's the flask?"

"I left everything in the truck," Dean told him.

"We'll get it later," the veteran hunter said, "I've a mind to put that sumbitch where no one will ever find him."

Dean didn't say anything for a long while. The two men sat in silence, drinking their coffee, thinking separate thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Bobby."

The words were so quiet the veteran hunter almost didn't catch them.

"It ain't me you've gotta apologize to," the hunter chastised, "Even though I told ya it was a bad idea."

"I know, I know," Dean muttered, "I just… God! What was I thinking?!"

Bobby gazed at the eighteen-year old sympathetically, "You were trying to save yer brother. You just went about it the wrong way, is all."

Bobby wasn't going to tear a strip off him as Dean had feared. He guessed it was because he already felt bad enough as it was that Bobby didn't want to make it worse. Not that Dean didn't deserve it. He kind of wanted Bobby to yell at him, tell him he was an idiot because the grizzled hunter's soft words were terrible.

He wasn't the victim here. Dean had known what he was doing and he should have known better. Hadn't John taught him better?

Clearly everything his father had told him had gone out the window as soon as he arrived in sunny California.

John would never have done what Dean had just attempted. He would have been smart about it. He would have simply hunted that bastard down until he could gank it, just as he had been doing with Mary's killer.

A fine hunter I've turned out to be, Dean thought sarcastically.

"How's yer head feeling?" Bobby asked, drawing Dean from his thoughts.

"Oh… uh, it's fine," he muttered. Truthfully, he'd forgotten all about the injury in his anxiety.

Reaching up, Dean grimaced in pain when his fingers brushed the gash at the back of his head.

"You want me to take a look at it?" Bobby offered nonchalantly but Dean declined.

"I'll live."

The hunters once more fell silent. They both stood to pour themselves more coffee but said nothing to one another.

Dean was thinking of his brother. Sam had been so terrified before, what was he going to be like now?

Dean hoped he'd be able to be around his sibling without appearing to be a threat.

Sam knew Dean would never hurt him. He knew that since he was six months old. Didn't he? He'd have to remember. He had to.

It wasn't him. It hadn't been him. It was a dybbuk. A monster made him do all those cruel things and saying all those awful words.

Dean was sure Bobby had explained everything to Sam. And Sam was a smart kid, he'd understand. He'd know.

"You should keep yer distance from Sam for a little while."

Bobby's words cut into Dean's thoughts as though the older hunter had been reading his mind.

"Why?" Dean asked, "Shouldn't I be with Sam? Showing him I'm not going to hurt him?"

Bobby shook his head.

"I think seeing you right now would be too much for him."

Dean frowned. He wanted to see his baby brother. He wanted to apologize, let Sam know he hadn't meant any of it.

"Remember Dean," Bobby said, "Baby steps."

The eighteen year old opened his mouth to argue but the look in Bobby's eyes told him it would be a bad idea.

"Okay," he sighed, "Baby steps."

"I know it ain't what you want to hear," Bobby continued, "But we have to think of what's best for Sam, not you."

Dean scowled but he knew the older man was right. He had been the one to fuck up. He had gotten himself into this mess. Now he had to suck it up and pay the price.

SPN

Sam looked up nervously when Bobby stepped into the room.

The boy had fallen asleep quickly but his rest had been anything but peaceful. He tossed and turned, trying to escape the nightmares that plagued him.

"Hey there, Son," Bobby said, "How're you feeling?"

Sam shrugged and sat up, his back against the bed's headboard.

"I brought you something to eat," Bobby held out a plate with a sandwich and potato chips on it.

"Th-Thanks," Sam muttered and took the plate, balancing it on his lap.

"I-Is D-Dean here?" Sam asked, looking up at the old hunter.

"Yeah," Bobby told him, "He is. He's downstairs though."

Sam nodded.

"He's n-not coming up here, is he?" Sam asked nervously.

Dean must hate him for taking him away from college. Sam hadn't meant to though, he didn't know what to do, didn't know whom else to turn to.

"No," Bobby assured him, "He'll stay downstairs until I say it's alright."

Sam nodded and picked up one half of the sandwich- it was peanut butter and banana- and took a tentative bite.

"I'll bring your bag up so you can change into some clean clothes, alright?" Bobby said and Sam nodded.

He watched the veteran hunter leave the room, closing the door behind him.

Sam took another bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly as he thought.

He trusted Bobby. The old hunter had never done anything to hurt him in all the years Sam had known him. But still, something inside Sam was telling him to be cautious.

Dean was his own brother and yet he'd hurt him-

No! It hadn't been Dean! It was a dybbuk using Dean. Trying to make Sam believe it was his brother.

Sam raised a hand and rubbed at a spot above his eyebrow. He was starting to get a headache.

The door opened- causing Sam to jump a little- and Bobby stepped inside, holding the straps of the teen's green duffel bag.

"Just put your clothes in the hamper in the corner so I can wash 'em later."

Sam nodded even though he didn't think Bobby would be able to get the stains out. The hunter nodded and left the room once more.

The fourteen-year old stood and peeled off his bloody t-shirt. His jeans hadn't fared much better; both knees were tore and the legs were coated in mud up to the shins. Grass stains covered the rest of the denim in the front.

Sam dumped his ruined garments into the wicker hamper that stood in the corner and rummaged through his duffel for some clean clothes.

The door once more opened- slamming against the wall- and Sam staggered back in fear.

"Sam!"

Dean stood in the doorway, looking almost frantic.

Sam stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall.

"No!" he cried and raised his hands to protect his head.

"Something's wrong with Bobby!"

Sam remained as he was, trembling slightly, but nothing happened. Dean didn't hit him, didn't call him names and cautiously, Sam peered up at him.

"I've gotta call the hospital."

"B-Bobby?" Sam asked, dazed.

Dean nodded, "C'mon."

The eighteen-year old held his hand out and nervously Sam took it.

"Was he okay when he came up here with your bag?" Dean asked quickly, clearly on the verge of panic.

Sam nodded silently. He hadn't noticed anything wrong with Bobby.

They hurried down the stiars and Sam saw Bobby lying in the kitchen doorway. Breaking away from his brother, Sam rushed to the older man's side.

"Bobby!" Sam cried, dropping to his knees at the hunter's side.

The grizzled hunter's face was pale- almost grey- and his breathing was labored. His eyes were closed but when Sam had called his name, the veteran hunter opened them as much as he could.

"Bobby! Don't die!"

Sam barely noticed as Dean grabbed the phone from Bobby's desk in the living room and called the local hospital.

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes and he reached out to touch Bobby's hand- the skin cool and clammy beneath his fingers.

"Sam," Dean's voice caused the boy to glance up at his sibling. Dean was now crouched beside them.

"I'll sit with him," the eighteen-year old said, "You'd better get some clothes on."

Sam opened his mouth and looked down. He was only wearing his boxer shorts- Dean had come into the bedroom so suddenly after Bobby had left that he hadn't had a chance to change his clothes.

Sam nodded, noticing Dean was frowning at the bruises that were now visible, and turned and ran up the staircase.

Sam didn't even bother looking at the clothes he picked. He pulled on a pair of khaki pants and a dark blue t-shirt quickly before barreling down the staircase again.

Bobby was still lying on the floor- unmoving- and Dean was sitting beside him, one man on the older man's chest in comfort.

Tears leaked down Sam's face as he approached.

Bobby couldn't die! Not now! Sam needed him!

The teen crouched on the older hunter's other side and put his hand on Bobby's.

In the distance, the blaring of ambulance sirens began wailing, coming closer and closer to the Salvage Yard.

SPN

Dean was the one to show the paramedics inside, standing out of the way as they brought a stretcher with them.

"Sam, come here," Dean called to his brother and reluctantly the younger teen left Bobby's side but did not go near him.

"Are you family?" a male paramedic asked Dean and he nodded, watching as the others began to assess Bobby.

"Yeah, we're his nephews," Dean replied.

"What happened?" the paramedic asked.

Dean shrugged, "I don't really know. One minute he was asking if I wanted some coffee and the next thing I know he's lying on the floor."

The paramedic nodded. Dean saw Sam starting at the others wide-eyed as they moved Bobby onto the stretcher.

"Is there any history of heart problems or stroke in the family?"

Dean shook his head, "I… I don't really know… I'm sorry. Is he going to be okay?"

The man gave Dean a sympathetic look, "We're doing all we can for him right now but we'll know more once a doctor has a chance to look at him."

With that unsatisfactory answer the paramedic turned and began following his colleagues out the door as they pushed the stretcher ahead of them.

Dean walked over to Sam and took hold of his arm. Sam, apparently in shock, followed him.

Dean fished the Impala's key from his pocket and unlocked the driver's side door and got into the vehicle before reaching over and unlocking the passenger's door.

Sam climbed into the car and Dean started the engine, following the ambulance as it pulled out of the driveway and onto the road.

"Sam?" Dean said anxiously.

His brother looked up at him.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," Dean apologized, "I didn't mean to. It's just… I was scared that Bobby-"

"Okay Dean," Sam muttered.

The brothers didn't say another word as they headed towards the hospital.

W

Dean paced the floor in front of the plastic chair Sam sat in. They had been in the waiting room for hours now with no word on Bobby's condition.

Sam remained silent, staring up at the television mounted to the ceiling in the corner and completely ignoring everything around him.

Dean kind of wished he could just zone out like his brother but his worry for Bobby prevented him from doing so. Oh, he was certain Sam was just as anxious as he was but the younger man simply reacted differently to it.

Dean was kind of amazed that Sam wasn't cowering away from him. He'd been worried that his brother would be terrified of him but he guessed that he must have forgotten his fear in the panic over Bobby.

Dean just hoped that when Sam remembered he was supposed to be afraid of him, that it didn't happen while they were at the hospital.

Maybe this was what they needed; an event to allow both of them to forget what had happened with the dybbuk and be brothers again.

SPN

If you're quiet he won't notice you, Sam thought as he watched Dean walking back and forth across the floor.

Being quiet seemed to work, with Dean at least. His brother barely even looked at him, glancing instead at the Nurse's station, Information desk, the double doors the paramedics had taken Bobby through, everywhere except at Sam.

He hoped Bobby was going to be okay. He didn't know what he'd do if he was left alone with Dean.

Sam froze when his brother turned to him and crouched down, one hand on the arm of his chair.

"Are you hungry, Sammy? Do you want anything from the cafeteria?" Dean asked and Sam shook his head slightly, not daring to speak.

His brother sighed, "I'm going to get some coffee. I'll be right back, okay?"

Sam watched as Dean stood and walked away from him, heading down a long hallway.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and pushed his bangs away from his face.

Why would Dean hurt me? He thought. Dean's my big brother.

But Dad was Dad. He still hurt you.

But Bobby said it was a spirit. A dybbuk.

Sam frowned. He recalled the time before Dean had gone to Stanford. Sure, John was hard on him- harder than he was with Dean- but he never actually hurt him until the night Dean left for school. The hunt with the shifter hadn't gone well but that was hardly John's fault. Besides, his Dad had saved him from the monster.

Sam shook his head. The dybbuk was gone. Bobby had taken care of it. Dean wasn't going to hurt him.

The teen reached up and gingerly touched his chin, cringing a little in pain.

Had it been after Dean left? Sam didn't know which had just been his Dad and what was the dybbuk's influence.

Sam guessed it didn't matter. Dad was gone and there was no way to know for certain.

Sam felt sadness well up in his chest. He hadn't wanted to do what he'd done. He had been scared and hurt. He wished his Dad was here with him now, to tell him that Bobby was going to be fine because Dean wasn't saying much of anything.

"Sammy? Hey, are you okay?"

The boy looked up as Dean came towards him, a look of concern on his face.

Sam nodded and wiped his face.

Dean sat down hesitantly beside him. He carefully reached out and laid an arm across Sam's shoulders. The warm weight of Dean's arm across Sam's back was comforting and the fourteen-year old didn't move away.

"I… I miss Dad," Sam whispered quietly.

Dean looked surprised at the confession but then he nodded, tilting his head closer to Sam's.

"Me too, Sammy."

SPN

"Family of Robert Singer?"

Dean stood up instantly at the sound of Bobby's name being called and made his way over towards the female doctor holding a clipboard.

"Here," he said and the woman glanced at him somewhat suspiciously.

"We're his nephews," Dean told her and the doctor nodded, seeming placated.

Sam had followed Dean and stood a little off to the side, beside him but not so close as he once would have been.

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean asked.

The doctor- Dr. Carter- nodded.

"He's had a mild heart attack," she said, "But he seems to be recovering nicely."

A great weight was lifted from Dean's shoulders.

"Thank God," he said and glanced at Sam, smiling.

"I want to keep him for at least two more days," Dr. Carter said, "To make sure your uncle is fully recovered. In the meantime, I'd like to discuss with him some lifestyle changes he should make to prevent this for happening again."

The woman looked up from the clipboard and peered closely at Dean.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen, Ma'am," he answered.

Dr. Carter replied, "Are you his only family?"

Dean nodded, "Yes Ma'am."

"Hm, well, you're old enough," she commented, "I'll tell you everything I'm going to tell Mr. Singer about how to improve his health so that you can keep an eye on him."

Oh, Bobby was sure to love that, Dean thought and smirked.

"Can we see him now?" Sam asked, his small voice speaking from beside Dean.

"He's resting now-" Dr. Carter began but Sam stared up at her with his 'puppy eyes'.

"Please," he begged, "We thought he was going to die."

The doctor's heart seemed to melt and she smiled at Sam, "Of course. Just try not to wake him up, alright?"

"We won't," Sam promised and the brothers followed the doctor down the hall.

"Good job, Sammy," Dean muttered and Sam looked up at him, smiling ever so slightly.

Dr. Carter held the door open for the Winchesters and they stepped quietly into Bobby's room.

The grizzled hunter looked completely different without his usual baseball cap and grimy vest. He was lying on the hospital bed with the crisp light blue sheets pulled up to his chest. His head was bare, revealing thinning reddish hair peppered with grey. Bobby's eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell evenly. A laminated bracelet encircled one wrist while the back of one hand had an IV needle in it. A monitor kept track of his heartbeats, the green line spiking up and down up and down.

Dean let Sam take the chair and the younger man climbed onto the seat, sitting on his knees and leaned over their unconscious friend.

"Can I speak to you?" Dr. Carter asked Dean, "We'll just be out in the hallway."

Dean hesitated but decided it would be okay to leave Sam alone with Bobby.

"Sure," he said and left the room.

Sam didn't even look up at him as the door closed.

SPN

"It wasn't really Dean," Sam whispered to Bobby, "Right? It was a dybbuk."

The veteran hunter didn't answer.

"Dean's not going to hurt me, is he?" Sam asked but again he received no reply.

"I wish you'd wake up," Sam muttered sadly, "I don't know what to think. You'd help me."

He sighed and sat back against the chair, rubbing his eyes.

Exhaustion quickly crept up on the teen and within seconds he was fast asleep, chin resting against his chest.

W

Sam startled awake when the door slammed open and Dean stormed into the room.

"You," Dean snarled, eyes locked on his brother.

"Dean," Sam squeaked and slid off the chair.

"This is your fault," Dean ground out, hands clenched into fists.

"Wh-What is?" Sam asked, eyes darting around the room.

Bobby was gone. The hospital bed stood empty, the screen of the monitor was blank and black.

"Bobby's dead," Dean spat, "And it's your fault."

"No!" Sam cried, "No, he can't be!"

Dean lunged forward and grabbed Sam's arm.

"You're hurting me!" the teen cried and tried to twist away from the threat.

"You kill everyone around you!" Dean ground out, "You're cured, you're evil!"

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes, "I d-didn't do anything! Please! Let me go!"

"First it was Mom, and then Dad and now Bobby."

Dean tugged Sam forward roughly, making the boy cry out in pain.

"Pl-Please, Dean, don't h-hurt me!" Sam begged.

Where was everyone? Where was the doctor? The nurses?

"Hel-" Sam tried to call out but Dean placed a large palm over his mouth, muffling any sound.

Sam's eyes widened with fear as Dean drew him close.

"I'm going to do what should have been done a long, long time ago," Dean told him and released his mouth to bring something from the pocket of his jacket- a scalpel.

"Pl-Please D-Dean… Pl-Please don't…" Sam whimpered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Sam closed his eyes as the blade flashed down and waited for the pain…

W

"Sam! Sammy!"

Dean's voice was hissing in his ear and he could feel his brother's hands holding his arms in a vice-like grip.

"Wake up!"

Sam tried to pull away from his brother but couldn't, his back pressed into the chair instead.

"You're okay! It was a nightmare!"

Sam opened his eyes and saw Dean's frightened features only inches from his face.

"Ah-" Sam began but Dean slapped a hand over his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Dean muttered, "You've gotta be quiet."

Sam struggled but Dean was too strong.

"It's alright Sam,' Dean continued, "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

The fourteen-year old peered into his brother's face and after a long minute, relaxed.

Dean took his hand away and released his grip on Sam's arm.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I… I don't k-know," Sam muttered.

"You were having a bad dream," Dean told him.

Sam's eyes traveled to the bed and he sagged with relief. Bobby was still lying in it. He wasn't gone. He wasn't dead.

"Is he going to be okay?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, yeah of course. Is that what you were worried about?"

Sam didn't respond. He hoped it was just a nightmare and not some sort of vision of the future.

Standing up, Sam placed his hands on the bed's mattress and heaved himself up, climbing onto the bed beside Bobby.

"Sam-" Dean began but didn't say anymore.

The boy crawled forward until he was right beside the old hunter before lying down. He reached out and pulled Bobby's arm- the one without the IV line- and draped it over him.

"Sam," Dean said again, his tone sad.

The teen didn't reply. He closed his eyes.

Bobby would protect him. Bobby could protect him from anything and anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Megadeth song.


	10. Making Amends

Dean and Sam stayed at the hospital for as long as they could. The elder Winchester flipped through magazines as his younger sibling lay curled up next to their surrogate father.

Dean didn't mind though. If being with Bobby made Sam feel safe than he wasn't going to tell his brother the nurses probably wouldn't like him lying on the bed.

He just wished Sam felt he was safe with him.

Eventually the Winchesters were forced to leave- reluctantly- when visiting hours came to an end.

"We'll come back tomorrow, Sammy," Dean assured his brother but the look on the boy's face as they walked out of Bobby's room damn near killed him.

I'm not going to hurt you, Sammy, Dean thought and squeezed his brother's hand gently as they made their way down the hallway.

W

Sam was very quiet on the ride back to the Salvage Yard. Dean didn't say anything for fear of being rejected.

Instead he turned on the radio.

SPN

Sam ran up the staircase and slammed the door to his bedroom. He shoved the plate- which still had the now stale sandwich on it- onto the floor where it smashed and climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over his head.

He closed his eyes tightly and listened for the sound of footsteps, certain that Dean was going to follow him.

Sam was sure his brother was going to hurt him, blame him for Bobby's heart attack.

He hadn't wanted to leave the hospital but he knew he had to; it was policy that visitors had to leave at night, but had been afraid to make a scene. Dean would really be mad at him then.

Sam's heart nearly stopped when he heard a rapping sound on the bedroom door. He bit his lip and held his breath, terrified.

But Dean didn't come into the room.

He knocked once more before Sam heard his footsteps moving away.

SPN

Dean's shoulders slumped dejectedly as he walked down the stairs.

He should have known Sam wouldn't miraculously come around and trust him again.

It still hurt though, to think that his brother was frightened of him.

Making his way to the kitchen, Dean grabbed a beer from the refrigerator- certain that Bobby wouldn't miss it- and sat down at the table.

He didn't know what to do. Sam wouldn't talk to him, didn't want anything to do with him and Dean was afraid that if he tried to engage his brother he'd only come on too forceful and his sibling would shut him out further.

Baby steps, Dean.

The young man sat up so suddenly he nearly spilt his beer.

Bobby's voice had been so clear in his head that it seemed as though he were standing right behind Dean.

Just to be sure, the teen glanced over his shoulder and saw that he was alone.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Dean sighed and took a drink of his beer.

W

Dean trudged up the stairs. It was late and he was exhausted. He had stayed up, drinking too many of Bobby's beers and thinking about his baby brother.

He knew that he shouldn't sleep in the guest bedroom with his brother so he planned on staying in the veteran hunter's room for the night, certain that Bobby wouldn't mind.

Dean came to a halt at the top of the staircase and was staring sadly at the closed guest bedroom's door when he suddenly heard the sounds of crying coming from within.

"Sammy?" Dean muttered and moved forward, thinking only of comforting his brother.

The room was dark but Dean didn't bother turning on the light. Instead, he found his way easily enough to the side of his brother's bed. The light coming in from the hallway illuminated the fourteen-year old. Sam's face was scrunched up, his head moving from side to side.

"Sammy," the eighteen-year old murmured and reached out, laying a gentle hand on his sibling's brow.

Sam didn't wake but he quieted.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered, "It was just a nightmare."

Before he even knew what he was doing, Dean climbed up onto the bed and gathered his brother into his arms, just like he used to do when Sam had been a toddler.

The boy did wake up and pushed himself away from Dean.

The older brother saw Sam eyeing him warily.

"You were having a bad dream," Dean told him lamely, feeling like an idiot.

The younger brother said nothing.

"Sam, I-" Dean began but then stopped.

Sam didn't want to hear what he had to say. Sam was scared of him, hated him. It would be best if Dean just left now.

"I- I'll go now," Dean stood and left the room, closing the door behind him.

SPN

Sam startled Bobby by throwing his arms around the man's neck and hugging him tightly.

The grizzled hunter looked up questioningly at Dean but the older brother just shrugged.

"Quit stranglin' me, Son," Bobby chortled, "You want these doctors to keep me longer?"

The fourteen-year old stepped back and glanced down at his shoes so that Bobby's nurse could push the wheelchair he was sitting in, out of the room.

"Now, you remember what Dr. Carter said about eating healthy and exercise, Mr. Singer?" the nurse asked and Bobby nodded, "Yeah, yeah, I remember."

He saw the woman look at Dean, "Make sure he does what he's supposed to."

"I don't need a pup telling me what to do," Bobby grumbled but he didn't really mean it.

"C'mon Uncle Bobby," Dean said as the nurse pushed the chair out through the sliding doors, "Let's get you home. There's a nice cold glass of carrot juice waiting for you."

Sam followed right beside Bobby's wheelchair, not letting the older man out of his sight. The gash on his chin and the cut on his lip were both healing, now scabbing over, but he was still too jumpy to have injured himself during soccer practice.

The nurse stopped the wheelchair and set the brakes right in front of the Impala. She reached out to help Bobby stand up but he waved her away.

Dean unlocked the passenger door and held it open fro the older hunter.

Sam scrambled into the backseat, sitting right behind Bobby.

"Everybody ready?" Dean asked, glancing at his two passengers, smiling though the expression did not meet his eyes.

Bobby nodded. Sam didn't react.

The classic car's engine rumbled to life and Dean pulled out of the hospital's parking lot, heading straight to the Salvage Yard.

SPN

Bobby was back!

Sam couldn't be happier. He'd been so afraid these past two days when he had Dean hadn't been visiting the grizzled hunter at the hospital. Left alone with his brother at the Salvage Yard, Sam was certain Dean would turn on him at any second.

Waking up in Dean's grip that first night had terrified Sam more than he showed. He had grown to be an extremely light sleeper with his father, waking up if John so much as snored a little too loudly.

But opening his eyes to find Dean holding onto him, Sam had been sure his brother was going to hurt him.

Instead, Sam had been able to escape his brother's grasp and Dean had left. For a long while, Sam had thought Dean would return and beat him but it hadn't happened.

That did nothing to ease Sam's mind though. Sometimes John pretended everything was alright and that he loved Sam as he waited for the perfect moment to strike.

But now Sam didn't have to be so afraid.

Bobby was home and he'd keep Sam safe.

W

Sam wanted to stay by Bobby's side, he really did, but Dean was there too and Sam was afraid of him.

As the grizzled hunter and the eighteen-year old retired to the kitchen, Sam went upstairs. He crept into the guest bedroom and curled into a corner.

W

Sam looked up when the door to the motel room opened and John stepped inside.

The boy's heart began to beat fast as the scent of take-out food filled the air, a white paper bag in John's hand.

Sam was starving.

John had gone on a hunt and hadn't left anything to eat. Sam had been too scared to leave the room, even though there was a vending machine close to the Office. Besides, Sam didn't have any money and if anyone caught him stealing from the machine…

The fourteen-year old couldn't take his eyes from the bag in his father's fist. Saliva gushed into his mouth and his stomach growled loudly.

John didn't even look at him as he sat down at the room's small table and pulled out the familiar red and white box for a McDonald's Big Mac. The father set the box on the table and reached into the bag again, pulling out a second one. Next came an extra large cup of fries.

Sam began to creep forward, very slowly, eyes glued to the food packages on the table.

John opened the Big Mac box and took the burger out. His eyes met Sam's and he took a large bite of the hamburger.

The father glanced down at the unopened second Big Mac box.

"You think this is for you?" he asked and Sam nodded.

John smiled.

"Why? You've done nothing to deserve it. I've been out hunting and you've been lazing around this room for three days."

Sam froze and stared at his father in shock.

He was so hungry.

"Please…" Sam begged, "…Sir."

John shook his head.

"Get out of my sight before you make me angry."

Sam felt tears well up in his eyes. He knew he'd be punished if he persisted but the food was just too tempting.

"I… I've been good," he tried, "Please… Dad…"

John set the Big Mac down and stood up. Sam cringed.

"How about I give you a knuckle sandwich?" the man threated and Sam backed away, whimpering.

The boy retreated to the far corner of the room where he curled up and watched John enjoying his dinner.

SPN

"I don't think Sam's ever going to look at me the same way again," Dean lamented to Bobby.

"That's 'cause yer an idjit."

The eighteen-year old scowled before frowning sadly.

"I just wish I could make Sam understand that I'm not going to hurt him," he said.

Bobby sighed, "You fucked up, Son. Badly. But like I've told ya before, this is going to heal but it needs time to do so. Sam ain't gonna warm up to you in one week."

"I know!" Dean snapped, "You don't have to keep reminding me!"

Bobby glowered at him, "Don't you take that tone with me."

Dean glanced down, chastised, "Sorry."

"I know you want to make things right with yer brother but you need to be patient and keep from making it worse."

Dean looked up at Bobby.

"Just how do I do that?"

SPN

A knock on the bedroom door startled Sam.

He looked up warily and heard Dean speak from the hallway.

"Bobby's ordering us pizza," he called, his voice slightly muffled, "You still like veggies on yours?"

Sam frowned. Why would Dean ask what he liked on his pizza? Why would he care?

Cautiously, Sam stood up.

"Sam?" Dean called, "Are you awake?"

"Y-Yeah, Dean, sorry," the fourteen-year old stammered.

Please don't hurt me.

"You want pepperoni or anything?" Dean asked, "Or just vegetables?"

"V-Veggies?" Sam said nervously.

"Perfect," Dean replied, "I'll let Bobby know."

Sam listened as his brother walked down the steps, his footfalls fading as he reached the main floor of the house.

SPN

"How'd it go?" Bobby asked as Dean entered the kitchen.

"He wants veggies," Dean told him.

Bobby nodded, "At least he's talking to you."

"Yeah," Dean muttered, trying to be happy for that small step of progress.

W

"Sammy?" Dean called from the other side of the bedroom door, "Pizza's here."

Bobby had suggested that although they have Sam come down to the kitchen to get his food, he should be allowed to leave if he wanted.

Dean wanted to sit with his brother but Bobby's idea had won out.

Both he and Bobby had already taken slices of their own pizza- Canadian- and sat their plates on the table before Dean had gone upstairs to let Sam know the food had arrived.

Dean waited for a moment before he called his brother's name again. Lifting his hand to knock on the door, Dean startled when it opened and Sam stared back at him.

"Pizza's here," Dean repeated.

"Okay," Sam answered quietly and looked away.

Dean watched as his sibling cringed as he moved past him and headed down the hallway towards the stairs.

Sighing, he followed Sam at a distance.

SPN

Sam peeked into the kitchen and saw Bobby sitting at the table, eating a slice of pizza.

"Hey there, Son," the grizzled hunter said and smiled, setting his piece of pizza onto his plate.

"You've got a whole pizza to yourself."

Sam's eyes widened. An entire pizza just for him?!

"C'mon in here and have a slice," Bobby said.

The fourteen-year old crept into the kitchen, encouraged by the grizzled hunter and stared at the veggie pizza Bobby had bought for him.

The man offered him a plate but Sam ignored it, holding the slice of pizza in his hand instead.

Sam peered over his shoulder as Dean walked into the kitchen, nervously.

"You don't have to leave," the eighteen-year old said as Sam began backing away.

Sam looked at Bobby and then at Dean.

He didn't want to leave but he didn't want to stay. Sam backed up to the doorway of the kitchen and sat down. He leaned his back against the doorframe and began to eat his pizza.

"Are you okay there, Sammy?" Dean asked and Sam nodded without looking at him.

SPN

At least Sam wasn't running away from him. That was a start.

Baby steps, as Bobby had said.

And Dean didn't press Sam into eating pizza at the kitchen table like a normal person. He let it go and said nothing about Sam sitting in the doorway.

After dinner, Sam and Dean and Bobby watched a movie in the living room. Albeit Sam only moved to the bottom step of the staircase and wasn't actually in the living room, Dean didn't mind.

Sam was slowly- very slowly- getting used to being around Dean.

The eighteen-year old was sure that if he made any sudden moved or raised his voice- even in happiness- he'd scare Sam and it'd be two steps back.

Dean caught Bobby's eye and the grizzled hunter gave him a thumbs up.

The journey to begin making amends was starting and Dean couldn't wait for the day when Sam would see him as his big brother again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a G. Love & Special Sauce song.


	11. Brother, Brother

Sam thrashed and whimpered, tangled in the blankets. Dean stood in the bedroom doorway, wondering if he should go inside and wake his brother.

He had heard Sam from downstairs- he was sleeping on the couch because his brother didn't want to be alone in the same room with him- and came running to his aid.

Bobby was fast asleep, snoring down the hallway in his own room and although Dean knew he could- and should- wake the older hunter, he didn't.

Dean's pizza sat heavily in his stomach as he watched his brother before he decided he had to do something and stepped into the bedroom.

Coming to stand beside his sibling's bed, Dean placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam, Sam wake up," he said, trying to rouse his brother.

The fourteen-year old did wake. He scrabbled away from Dean, whimpering.

"Please… please don't hurt me!"

"Sammy," Dean said, trying to comfort his brother, "It's alright, I'm not going to do anything to you."

Even in the darkness Dean could see Sam's eyes were wide and fearful.

"Sam, please listen to me," Dean tried but his brother interrupted him.

"Go away!"

Dean left the room, his heart aching in his chest.

SPN

Sam sat up in bed, staring at the darkened room around him.

He was shaking fearfully. He'd been so afraid Dean was going to hurt him.

Tears dripped down Sam's nose and he buried his face against his knees.

He wanted to trust Dean, he really did but he was just so scared.

"Please… tell me what's happening… someone… please… I don't know what to do…"

SPN

Dean sat up on Bobby's old brown couch.

Wide awake.

Gritting his teeth, he punched one of the couch's arms.

He knew he shouldn't have woken his brother like he had. He knew what Sam's reaction would be.

And still he'd done it.

He just couldn't be patient.

No, that wasn't it… he just wanted his baby brother back. He didn't want Sam to be afraid of him anymore.

SPN

Bobby's eyebrows knitted together as he realized how utterly quiet the house was.

Both Winchesters were completely silent.

Dean stared into his mug of coffee moodily and Sam sat leaning against the kitchen doorframe, staring into the living room.

Bobby sighed but didn't say anything about the silence.

Instead he stood up and stretched, "I'm going to the garage to work on a car, either of you boys wanna keep me company?"

Dean shrugged, "No."

Sam however, looked up at Bobby and stood. The grizzled hunter had figured as much.

He walked from the kitchen and heard Sam following him like an eager puppy.

W

Sam sat in the driver's seat of the old green Camero Bobby was working on.

The hunter smiled even though he could not see the young man- the Camero's hood was up- and was happy that Sam felt so comfortable with him.

If only he could feel this way around Dean.

He would, Bobby knew it, eventually. They just had to work on regaining that trust.

"Can I help?"

Bobby looked up and saw that Sam had left the driver's seat and was now standing beside him.

"Sure, Son," Bobby said and began pointing out the different parts of the engine and explaining what he thought was wrong with the car and what needed to be fixed.

Sam listened intently, his expression serious.

"Hey Sammy," Dean's voice called from behind them and the younger man turned quickly.

"H-Hey," Sam answered and stepped back from the car.

"No, don't leave on my account," Dean said, "I'll just hang out here."

Dean was standing in the doorway of the garage and he leaned against it now, arms crossed casually across his chest.

Sam stared at his brother for a long moment before approaching the Camero again and was soon preoccupied with helping the veteran hunter fix its engine.

SPN

A week passed and Sam gradually grew more at ease with Dean's presence. The eighteen-year old still felt as though he was stepping on eggshells around his brother but he didn't complain- it was his own fault Sam thought he was going to attack him at a moment's notice- and instead reminded himself that it could have been much worse.

Sam didn't run from the room every time he saw Dean and he even spoke to him a little.

Yes, they were baby steps but Sam was coming around and Dean couldn't be more excited.

W

Dean woke groggily, wonder what it was that had roused him from sleep.

Blinking blearily in the darkened bedroom- Sam felt comfortable enough to share the room with his brother again- Dean was about to go back to sleep when he heard a whimper.

"No…Please…"

It was Sam.

He was having a nightmare.

Dean got up instantly and moved to his brother's side.

"Sam," he whispered and reached out hesitantly.

"Sammy, wake up," Dean said and touched his sibling's shoulder.

The fourteen-year old flinched and scrambled into a sitting position.

"It's okay! It's just me!" Dean announced, certain that his words were not going to make his brother feel any better.

"D-Dean?"

"Yeah," he answered, "You were having a bad dream."

To Dean's surprise, Sam reached out and touched his arm.

"I- I'm s-sorry I woke you u-up," the fourteen-year old stammered nervously.

"Don't worry about it Sam," Dean said quietly.

Both brothers were silent for a moment; Sam appeared to be waiting for something, before Dean stood.

"I should get back to bed."

"W-Wait!" Sam cried and Dean froze.

"Sam?"

"C-Can you sit w-with me… just f-for a little while," the younger sibling asked anxiously.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked cautiously. He was delighted that Sam wanted him nearby but he also was wary of startling his sibling and ruining all the progress he'd made.

"I'm s-sure," Sam said and Dean sat back down.

To Dean's surprise, his brother leaned against him, almost melting into him. Carefully, he raised his arms and gently hugged his brother. Sam let out a sigh.

Dean swallowed, fighting back the tears that were welling in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he whispered, "I'm so damn sorry. I was an idiot. I wasn't thinking and almost got you killed."

Sam didn't reply but his thin arms snaked around Dean's midsection and squeezed tightly.

SPN

Bobby looked up from his paper as both Sam and Dean walked into the kitchen the next morning.

Together.

"Did I miss something last night?" he asked.

Dean just smiled at him. Sam looked away but he seemed more at ease with his brother than he had been the past week.

"Did you eat breakfast yet, Bobby?" Dean asked and the grizzled hunter frowned.

"A piece of fruit ain't much of a breakfast," he grumbled.

Dean smirked, "Doctor's orders."

Bobby scowled, "What do doctors know?"

"You don't want another heart attack do you?" Dean said and Bobby sighed.

The eighteen-year old opened the refrigerator and pulled out a half a grapefruit. He grabbed a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon and set them in front of Bobby.

"An' what are you boys gonna be eating?" he asked as he began to slice into one section of the grapefruit's pink flesh.

"I was thinking of having pancakes," Dean told him, "With butter and maple syrup."

Bobby glared at him as he shoved a piece of unsweetened grapefruit into his mouth.

SPN

Sam smiled hesitantly at his brother as Dean placed a plate of pancakes in front of him.

"Mind sliding one of those my way, Son?" Bobby asked, smiling.

Sam curled an arm around his plate but returned the older hunter's grin.

Dean eyed his brother warily, afraid to say anything and let it go this one time as Sam plopped a pancake slathered in butter and syrup onto the top of Bobby's grapefruit.

"Ahhh," Bobby said with an exaggerated sigh as he bit into a piece of pancake, "Pure heaven."

"Yeah, pure heaven that will send you to Heaven," Dean commented.

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him, "Since when did you become a health-nut, Dean?"

"Since you nearly died on us," Dean told him pointedly.

Sam's grin disappeared and he stared at his own breakfast, no long hungry.

"Are you done eating, Sam?" Dean asked and the fourteen-year old nodded.

"I was thinking…" Dean said but then hesitated.

Sam looked up at him curiously; what was Dean going to say?

Was he in trouble? No, he couldn't be. That wasn't it.

"I found our old soccer ball the other day," Dean told him, "And I was wondering if you wanted to play outside for a while."

Sam mulled the idea over. A week had passed. An entire week since Dean- no, the dybbuk- had tried to kill him and his brother hadn't done anything to him. Maybe Dean really just wanted to play soccer. But then again, maybe it was a trick.

"Uh…" Sam paused, "Umm…"

Dean shook his head, "You don't have to play if you don't want to, okay? But I wouldn't mind some company."

Sam looked to Bobby and the older hunter smiled at him.

"Go on, Son," he encouraged and Sam found the decision made for him.

Sam stood and headed out of the kitchen. As he walked out, he heard Bobby speak to Dean.

"I wanna talk to you for a minute."

SPN

Dean turned to the grizzled hunter, one eyebrow raised, expecting Bobby to give him shit for suggesting he and Sam play a game of soccer.

Bobby stood up slowly and met Dean's hazel eyes with his own grey ones.

"It ain't all yer fault you know."

Dean didn't respond for a minute.

"What?"

"The dybbuk," Bobby explained, "Sure, it wasn't the brightest idea you've ever had but… it wasn't all your fault… what happened."

Again Dean waited for Bobby to speak.

"I got a call from a rookie hunter," he said, "Rich Anderson, wanting to know how to get rid o' pixies."

Dean didn't see what this had to do with the dybbuk so he waited.

"I left the motel," Bobby confessed, "Went home to get a book on English folklore. By the time I'd got back to the motel, you and Sam were already gone."

Dean frowned, "But… didn't you have the mic?"

Now Bobby really looked chagrinned, "I left it on the desk. Nothing was happening and I didn't think. I'm an old fool, Dean… an old fool that nearly got yer brother killed."

Dean didn't say anything for a long moment. He was angry at Bobby. He was the veteran hunter! He should have known better!

Without speaking, he turned and left the kitchen, seething.

He stormed outside and saw Sam holding the soccer ball, a nervous smile on his face.

"I don't want to play," he said, his anger seeping through and headed off towards the maze of dilapidated cars.

SPN

Sam let the ball slip from his hands and he stared after Dean, hurt.

Had he done something wrong?

Slowly, in case his brother came back, Sam retreated to the house and stepped inside, trying not to cry.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice called wearily from the kitchen.

"It's me," Sam replied quietly.

"Are you alright?" Bobby asked, standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Did I do something Bobby? Dean's mad at me," Sam asked the veteran hunter.

Bobby shook his head instantly, "No, Son, you didn't do anything. It's me he's pissed at."

Sam nodded and then went upstairs without asking why. He had learned when he was with his father not to ask too many questions.

He went into the guest bedroom, closed the door and sat down on the edge of his bed.

SPN

"Dean! Dean, where are you?!"

The eighteen-year old heard Bobby calling his name but he didn't respond. He slid down further into the Camero's seat so and fumed.

"Dean," the grizzled hunter said, closer to the teen's hiding place than he knew, "I'm sorry. I should have said something earlier. It's me who's the idjit."

Dean heard Bobby sigh and then grunt. There was the sound of something heavy hitting the ground and then silence.

After a moment Dean heard whispering. He didn't know who it was but he knew it couldn't be good.

The whisperers walked away and Dean peeked out of the car's window.

Bobby was lying on his back a few feet away, eyes closed and a bruise forming on his brow.

"Shit," Dean muttered and climbed from the car.

He had no clue who had attacked Bobby but it was clear they were dangerous. He looked around for a weapon and saw a piece of metal on the ground. As long as his arm and tapered down to a point at one end, the piece of scrap metal would have to do.

Dean paused at Bobby's prone form and pressed his fingers against the old hunter's neck. Bobby was alive, just unconscious.

Standing, Dean shaded his eyes with one hand and saw two forms slip into Bobby's house.

"Shit," Dean whispered again and followed them at a distance, the scrap of metal clutched in one hand.

SPN

Sam sighed and slid off the bed. He walked across the bedroom and opened the door. He heard footsteps coming from the lower floor of the house and wondered if Dean was back inside, talking to Bobby.

Turning and heading down the hallway, Sam let himself into the bathroom.

SPN

Dean crept up the porch steps, his footsteps light- he knew just which stairs were creaky and avoided them- before sidling up to the screen door and peering inside, careful to keep out of sight.

One of the intruders was in Bobby's living room, pulling books down from the shelves, perhaps searching for something. Dean didn't see the other one and that worried him.

SPN

Sam jumped when he heard thudding coming from downstairs. He glanced over his shoulder and flushed the toilet before going to the sink.

Maybe Dean and Bobby were fighting rather than talking. His brother had seemed very mad when he'd passed Sam earlier on the front porch.

The creak of floorboards outside startled Sam and he looked up, confusedly.

Was someone upstairs with him?

SPN

Dean couldn't see the man's face. He was wearing a beige nylon stocking over his head, like a bank robber or something. Whoever he and his partner were, they didn't want Bobby to recognize them.

Taking a deep breath, Dean used his shoulder to push the screen door open just enough to slip through, easing it closed again silently he locked his eyes on the intruder's back; the man too intent on tearing Bobby's bookshelf apart to notice he wasn't alone.

SPN

Sam gasped in fear when the bathroom door was wrenched open and a man stepped into the room. A stocking hid the intruder's face but Sam could very clearly see the serrated hunting knife in the man's hand.

"Pl-" Sam began but cried out when the man grabbed his hair and pulled him out of the small bathroom.

"Where is it?" The intruder hissed in Sam's ear and pressed the knife to the fourteen-year old's throat.

"I- I- I-" Sam stammered, too terrified to speak.

The man shoved Sam onto the floor and stepped over him, his feet on either side of Sam's chest.

The teen stared up fearfully at his attacker. Who was this man? What did he want?

"Where is it?" the man repeated and Sam shook his head.

"D-Don't k-k-know," Sam stuttered. The man growled and grabbed the front of Sam's shirt, pulling him up.

"You know," he told Sam, "I know you do."

Sam's eyes widened as the man began walking forward, pushing the boy along ahead of him. Towards the stairs.

SPN

Dean cursed as the floorboard squawked under his foot and the man at the bookshelf turned around.

Dean didn't waste any time. As the intruder turned Dean lunged forward, swinging the piece of metal.

SPN

Sam grabbed at the man's hands, trying to pull them away.

"Pl-Please!" he begged but the man did not release him.

"Maybe you'll remember where it is after this," the man said and shoved Sam.

The fourteen-year old stumbled, trying to find footing but his feet only touched thin air. His arms pinwheeled comically as he pitched backwards down the staircase, landing with a sickening thud at the bottom.

SPN

The man cried out in pain as the sharp piece of metal sliced into his side.

Dean pulled the makeshift blade out- blood squirted from the wounded man's side- and stared in horror as his brother's body landed heavily at the bottom of the stairs.

"SAM!" he shouted fearfully and turned.

The eighteen-year old grunted as pain blossomed in his back and he looked over his shoulder to see the man he'd attacked holding the handle of a knife, a knife that was buried in Dean's back.

SPN

Sam opened his eyes slowly, blinking blood away from them. He was staring at the wall beside the stairs.

He tried to sit up but his shoulder- the one John had dislocated all those months ago- refused to hold his weight and hung uselessly at his side.

The fourteen-year old heard sounds of a struggle in the living room but couldn't turn to see what was happening. The steady thunk-thunk-thunk of footsteps on the stairs alerted the boy to the fact that his attacker was coming for him again.

Rising up on his uninjured arm, Sam scooted away from the stairs the best he could.

"Do you remember now?" the man asked as he approached Sam.

The teen shook his head.

"Please… don't h-hurt me…"

The man reached down and grabbed Sam's shirt, yanking him up. Sam cried out as his dislocated arm was jostled mercilessly.

Sam looked past the man, at the scene in the living room and saw Dean ram his back into Bobby's bookshelf, pinning a second intruder between the heavy piece of furniture and his own body.

Sam's attention was torn away from his brother when the man holding him shook him roughly.

"Where is it?!" the man shouted in his face.

"I- I don't know w-what your talking about!" Sam cried out.

"I don't like liars," the man almost whispered and his knife appeared again, the tip against the base of Sam's throat.

Blood welled up against Sam's skin as the man pressed down lightly on the blade.

SPN

Dean bent over, grinding his teeth in pain, and flipped the man over, keeping the man pinned against the bookshelf so he couldn't escape.

The intruder released the knife and landed heavily on his back, stunned.

Dean raised the piece of metal and brought the pointed end down on the man's abdomen, the tip sinking into the intruder's stomach.

The attacker gasped and reached up to grab the makeshift blade embedded in his gut but Dean was already wrenching it out with a wet sucking sound and advancing at the man holding his baby brother.

SPN

Sam cried out in pain as the man slid the knife down, cutting into his chest.

"You tell me where it is and I'll kill you right now, quick."

Sam closed his eyes and startled when the man holding him suddenly gave a gurgle and dropped him onto the floor.

Sam groaned in pain and opened his eyes to see what had caused the man to let him go.

His attacker's body was leaking blood onto the hardwood floor, his head nearly severed.

Dean stood in front of the man, the shard of metal fell from his hand and he collapsed to his knees.

"Dean!" Sam cried and crawled over the dead man to his sibling, "Dean! Dean!"

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured and brushed his brother's bangs back with one blood-smeared hand.

Ignoring his own pain, Sam reached out with his uninjured arm and wrapped it around Dean. He startled when he felt the grip of the knife still lodged into his sibling's back.

"D-Dean," Sam whimpered.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean repeated.

Sam blinked blood from his eyes and rested his head against his brother's chest. He barely noticed when Dean listed to one side; he simply curled up against him and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Carole King song.


	12. The Cure For Pain

Bobby paced worriedly outside of Dean's room. Every so often he'd reach up and touch the goose egg on his brow and curse himself.

He had let those bastards get the jump on him!

He had nearly gotten Dean and Sam killed!

The veteran hunter had woken up- groggy and confused- and wandered into his house, a concussion making his mind foggy.

He'd seen the blood and the bodies- all four of them- and had had enough sense left in his brain to call for an ambulance.

Bobby didn't remember much of what happened next- a cracked skull would do that to you- until he came to himself in a small exam room in Sioux Falls General.

His immediate concern had been for the Winchesters. He didn't know if they were alive or dead.

After letting the nurse on duty he was the boys' uncle, they finally agreed to have the doctor speak to him.

Sam had a concussion, a dislocated shoulder and deep cut on his chest. He had bruises as well from his fall down the stairs as well but those were the least of the doctor's worries.

Although painful, none of his injuries were life threatening, thank God. The doctors would keep a close watch on Sam's head though they were certain there would be no permanent damage.

Dean, on the other had, had sustained a deep laceration to his back and a punctured lung. The doctors had been able to repair the wound but the eighteen-year old was still unconscious.

The police had been called and asked Bobby about the events at his house. He had lied and told them that, no, officers, he had no idea who the two men were and no, he didn't think of anyone who would want to hurt him or his nephews.

Bobby knew who the intruders were, all right. A couple of asshole hunters he had had the displeasure of meeting. Although most hunters were decent enough fellows and women, some weren't exactly playing with a full deck.

The two men who'd attacked Bobby and the boys had visited the grizzled hunter a few months ago, asking for a weapon Bobby had. This weapon, very powerful and precious, wasn't something the veteran hunter lent out to any Tom, Dick or Harry. He'd told the hunters, who were on a demon case, to get rid of the sons of bitches the old fashioned way. The pair had grumbled and tried to get Bobby to see things their way but the older hunter put his foot down, the weapon wasn't to be used for just any run-of-the-mill demon, no it was designed to take out the big boys.

Bobby should have known the two would return. They hadn't been happy to be turned away.

Bobby didn't event have the weapon in his house! He'd let John Winchester keep it in his storage unit for Christ's sake! No, the weapon, the Spear of Longinus- the Spear of Destiny- was much safer where it was.

The old hunter didn't want to think about what the two would have done if they realized the weapon wasn't in the house.

But no, Bobby didn't know the two men, not at all.

The police had been understanding- probably because he had been injured- and decided to treat the case as a home invasion.

Dean? Oh he wouldn't be charged. It was clear he had acted in self-defense.

"Mr. Singer? Your nephew is awake and asking for you." A nurse said, bringing Bobby out of his reverie.

"Dean?" he asked but the woman shook her head, "Samuel."

Bobby nodded and walked down the hallway towards the fourteen-year old's room.

SPN

Sam smiled as Bobby stepped into the room.

"Hey, Son," the grizzled hunter said, "How're you feeling?"

Sam shrugged his uninjured arm- the other one held in a sling- and his eyes turned wet.

"I thought you were dead," he told Bobby.

"It takes more than a couple of idjits to do me in," the veteran hunter assured him.

The boy was pale, with a large lump and bruise on his forehead. His dislocated shoulder had been popped back into place and immobilized for the time being with a sling. Gauze poked out from underneath Sam's shirt, hiding the cut to his chest and the base of his neck.

"Is… Is Dean okay?" Sam asked in a quiet tone.

"The doctors patched him up," Bobby said truthfully, "But he's still unconscious."

Sam nodded and looked down, fiddling with the edge of his blanket.

"He saved me… he killed that man…"

"I know," Bobby replied.

Sam looked up again, tears filling his eyes.

"He really does love me, doesn't he?"

Bobby felt a lump form in his throat and he nodded.

"I want to see him," Sam announced and began to climb out of bed.

"Whoa! Hold on there, Son!" Bobby stepped forward and put a hand on the teen's uninjured shoulder.

Sam peered up at him, his expression telling Bobby he thought he was going to be made to stay in the bed.

"Let me help you," the grizzled hunter said and helped Sam down from the high-set bed, grabbing the IV stand and wheeling it along as Sam cautiously walked forwards.

Unsteady on his feet, Sam reached out and gripped Bobby's shirt like he used to when he was a toddler.

"Dean's on the floor above," the grizzled hunter said, "You think you can walk all that way?"

Sam nodded, determination shining in his eyes.

W

No one stopped the duo as they made their way slowly and steadily to the elevators. Bobby was grateful for that since he wasn't sure the doctors would be please to see Sam walking around the hospital.

The fourteen-year old leaned against the wall of the elevator as it carried him and Bobby up one floor.

When the lift's doors opened and Sam followed Bobby into the hallway his heart stopped when he realized that they were heading towards the ICU ward.

"He's okay, right? The doctors fixed him?" Sam asked anxiously.

"He'll be okay," Bobby assured Sam and the teen felt better.

SPN

If Bobby thought Sam had been pale, the fourteen-year old had nothing on his brother.

Dean's face was the same shade as the starched white sheet resting on his chest. The dark circles beneath his eyes making him look even sicklier.

"Dean!" Sam cried and hurried to his brother's side, forcing Bobby to follow quickly with the IV stand.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, "Dean!"

"Son, keep yer voice down," Bobby warned gently, "I don't think you're supposed to be in here."

Sam looked back at Bobby with wet eyes and nodded. He gripped the blanket at the edge of the bed with his good hand and struggled to lift himself high enough to get his leg up. Bobby, seeing what the teen intended, stepped forward and pushed Sam up.

The fourteen-year old crawled up the bed until he was right beside his brother and laid down beside Dean, facing his unconscious sibling.

Bobby sat down on the chair reserved for visitors and released the IV stand.

"It's okay, Dean," he heard Sam mumbled quietly, "I'm right here. I'll keep you safe."

SPN

Bobby looked up when a nurse entered the room. She looked at the Winchester brothers sleeping on the bed and opened her mouth.

"They're not used to being apart," Bobby spoke before the woman could, "And if you know what happened to them, you'd leave 'em be."

The nurse paused, nodded and smiled.

"Alright, just this once," she said and Bobby smiled back.

The nurse went about her business, checking Dean's IV line and chart, making notes, and looked at Bobby again.

"He should wake up soon," she told the grizzled hunter, indicating the eldest Winchester.

Bobby felt relief wash over him, "That's good."

"I'll let his nurse know he's in here," she continued, peering down at Sam.

"Thank you," Bobby said and the nurse left the room.

SPN

Dean floated up into consciousness reluctantly. His back hurt like a son of a bitch and he wanted to escape the pain in sleep.

He wasn't so lucky however because he soon became aware of the scents and sounds of a hospital.

The sharp scent of bleach filled his nose and the murmur of the PA system and the squeak of gurney wheels persisted, driving sleep away.

Something warm was nestled into Dean's side and he shifted slightly, discomforted by the presence.

"Mmm," the thing muttered and Dean's eyes shot open.

Sam!  
"Sammy," Dean whispered and looked down to see his brother lying against his side.

"He's alright, Dean," a gruff voice told him and the eighteen-year old looked up to see Bobby sitting beside the bed.

Dean nodded and reached out a hand, stroking Sam's bangs back from his brow, frowning at the lump on his forehead.

"Do you remember what happened?" Bobby asked and Dean nodded.

"Bastard was trying to kill Sammy."

Dean felt tears well up in his eyes. Sam had looked so small and helpless in that man's grip, so vulnerable.

"Who were they, Bobby?" He asked.

The older hunter didn't say anything for a moment.

"I'll tell you later."

Dean smiled when Sam began to stir, raising his uninjured arm to wipe sleep from his eyes.

"D-Dean?"

The older brother's heart began to pound in his chest, unsure of how Sam was going to react.

"I'm here, Sammy," he whispered.

The fourteen-year old threw his arm around his brother and hugged him tightly; chin digging into Dean's shoulder.

"You're okay!" Sam exclaimed, his voice muffled against Dean's pillow.

"Of course I am," Dean told him, hugging his brother back unabashedly, "How else would I protect you?"

Sam pulled back suddenly and stared at his brother.

Oh no, Dean thought frantically; here it comes. He opened his mouth to tell his brother that he wasn't going to hurt him, that he wasn't mad at him… anything to prevent Sam from being scared of him again but the fourteen-year old spoke first.

"You did protect me," Sam's voice was filled with shock, "You attacked those men to keep me safe."

Dean stared at Bobby as Sam once again hugged him. The veteran hunter was smiling, his grey eyes wet with tears.

Dean couldn't believe it: Sam trusted him again!

He wrapped his arms around his brother and held onto Sam as tightly as his sibling was holding onto him, relishing the moment.

"I love you, Sammy," Dean murmured and his heart skipped a beat happily when Sam whispered to him, "I love you too, Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Jon Foreman song.


	13. New Morning

Bobby smiled as he watched Sam and Dean playing soccer from his seat on the porch steps.

The brothers, once nearly torn apart, were closer than ever before.

The grizzled hunter sighed as he heard Sam laughing out loud- something he thought he wouldn't hear for a long, long time- and took a sip of his coffee.

The younger Winchester looked up at him; his face flushed from the exercise and waved, "C'mon Bobby! Play with us!"

The grizzled hunter smiled but shook his head, "Nah, I'm too old for that sort of thing. Besides, you look to be doing well on yer own, beating Dean as far as I can tell."

Dean looked over at him and made a face but then chuckled, turning his attention back to his brother: "Let's see what you've got, Sammy!"

The older hunter watched the boys play, marveling at the change in both siblings.

Although Sam was still uncertain sometimes of Dean and looked to Bobby for assurance at those moments, his trust in his older brother had seemed to skyrocket from that day when they had been attacked. The teen still had nightmares- something that may remain with him for a long time- but always sought out Dean for comfort instead of shying away from him as he used to do.

Dean himself was more positive, more confident in himself and Sam. His guilt over the dybbuk possession appeared to have been assuaged by his actions to protect his brother from the hunters. He didn't now fear what Sam thought of him because the fourteen-year old made it clear that he had eyes only for his brother. Dean was Sam's hero once again. As it should be.

And Bobby… well, he was just happy that the boys were happy. He was glad that, for the most part, the brothers were able to put the past year behind them and move forward. He only wished it hadn't come at such a price.

"Hey Bobby? Can we go out for breakfast?" Sam asked, running towards him, panting and smiling.

"Sure, Son," the grizzled hunter said and stood, setting his coffee cup on the porch railing, "Let me guess, you want pancakes?"

Sam nodded eagerly and his brother chuckled, ruffling the fourteen-year old's unruly hair.

As Bobby and the Winchesters drove into town, the ruby sphere of the sun rose high into the sky, heralding the beginning of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a Bob Dylan song.

**Author's Note:**

> Fanfic title comes from a Screaming Trees song.  
> Chapter title comes from a Black Sabbath song.


End file.
